Fields of Gold
by cartoon moomba
Summary: [ABANDONED] The day Jadis' reign begins, Amalea is swept away. Betrayed by a man she once called her lover, she spends her time on Earth building walls around her heart - but back in Narnia, she must learn how to forgive the past as shadows of the war rise up. ED/OC
1. The Day The Fields Bloomed Bright

**Disclaimer: **The Chronicles of Narnia and all its characters belong to C.S Lewis; various characters here such as Lea and Akshay belong to me.

So I've been mulling this over in my head for a while now, and actually have it planned out for a trilogy (following in Prince Caspian and Voyage of the Dawn Treader). I even have about half of the Prince Caspian arc done in note form, but a sequel needs the original first... This will be a gradual Edmund/OC (because there can never be enough of those here!). Title comes from the song "Fields of Gold" by Eva Cassidy – the one I have on my iPod, anyway.

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**1**

The Day The Fields Bloomed Bright

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_"And you can tell the sun in his jealous sky_  
_of when we walked in fields of gold."_

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_._

_._

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Akshay's growls are the first thing I hear when I open my eyes. I squint against the suddenly blazing light above me, dizzy from being knocked out into unconsciousness, and try to get up from the frosting ground. A voice of unease murmurs in my head, tumbling over the other voices hurriedly whispering alongside it – they rise and fall, some as heavy and deep as the land, others as light as the air, or slippery and silver like the streams. They all cry out in panic, saying to me only one, trembling word:

_Narnia._

The scream of the Queen of Narnia, high-pitched and broken midway with pain, is the second thing to sound throughout the still air, and then I remember.

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The day Narnia bows her head to the cold cloak of winter, it is close to the coming of autumn. The trees stand still, ever-watching, and Talking Animals have fled the area long ago – in the clearing that once served as a dancing lawn for merry fauns, there are eight figures caught amidst the greenery.

"My Lady," Akshay says in the quiet that falls, fur matted and bloodied as two burly Wolves pin him to the ground. His body is littered with wounds both deep and light, and I can see red staining the fur on the jowls of the Wolves beside him.

I realize that there is a note of pleading in his voice; something like _Amalea, don't do anything foolish _and the axe against my neck cuts deeper, tracing a fine line of pink against the skin there.

The minotaur holding it there growls in warning – a wild, animalistic sound full of danger – and I still under his gleeful gaze. I hadn't realized there was someone keeping me in place, and I let myself gaze beyond him – a carcass of a black panther lies there, broken and bleeding out into the soil, surrounded by a dark halo of burgundy. Its eyes, empty and dead, stare out into the woods to a place we cannot see - perhaps it is Aslan's Country, but the Lion has limits to His forgiveness. The spirit of the earth thrums inside of my body, satisfied, and I almost reflect the feeling with a small smile of accomplishment – the kill was mine before I fell, and it makes me just the slightest bit content.

"Amalea," a beautiful voice says, shaping each syllable in a soft caress. I follow the sound of my name with my eyes, shifting my body as much as I dare under the minotaur's watchful stare. The voice sends a small shiver down my spine, the hair at the back of my neck standing up as some part of my brain recognizes the danger laced with the softness.

A blonde woman smiles at me from where she stands before a towering tree, clad in fine silks and battle armour. She is all large, willowy limbs and black eyes with no irises – her smile seems to be made of sharp teeth and the creatures of the falling night. She steps aside, fluid and smooth with the grace of a noble lady, and my gaze makes contact with that of my Queen.

Desdemona's eyes are grim with pain as she stares back, but there is a flame of determination in them – she is not the Queen of Narnia for nothing, and with her jaw set firmly in her face, the feelings of love and loyalty for her within me grow. I follow a line of rips and tears on her dress downwards, my eyes beginning to ache from the strain of still being held on the dirt, and to the weapon impaled right through her torso. She bleeds out of the wound, ugly and painful and life-threatening, a pattern of drops already forming on the grass below.

The light in her eyes begins to flicker and dim – a sort of hazy, strained resolve to _stay awake stay alive_ – and a full body shudder goes through me. The greedy need for revenge and bloodshed inside of me rears its head at the sight, and a harsh wind tears through the small meadow, almost as if reacting to my bubbling feelings of rage.

I snarl so wide that the axe above me slices deeper, blood beginning to seep down the side of my neck.

"_Jadis."_

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The first time I had glimpsed Jadis, she was demanding an audience with Queen Desdemona of Narnia. Many had heard rumours of a rebellion forming to the far north of the land, led by a beautiful witch with skin like snow and eyes like the deep waters beneath a starless night sky. Whispers told of her great magic and immortality, said to have been cursed by Aslan Himself, and her growing lust for power in our homeland.

I had only been alive for a year back then. The Narnians still sang songs of my birth and radiance to match that of Aslan Himself, moulded of the air and soil by the Great Lion at the entrance to His country. They sang of my kindness and wisdom and fair complexion, and the blessings I would surely bring to them in the years to come. I remember watching Jadis stride through the arches of beautiful Cair Paravel, her shoulders set as her eyes took everything in with the light of greed; from my spot in one of the many gardens, fingers curled lazily into the rich orange fur of Akshay's pelt as we sat side-by-side, I remember the calm feeling rising within me, resembling something akin to Narnia murmuring stories into my ear like a mother would as dusk fell those first few weeks after I was created.

_This woman will die, _I thought back then, my eyes trailing her as she disappeared deeper into the castle, _or I will. _

Six months later, Jadis of the North declared war on Lion's country.

What we thought of as only a small group of vagabonds soon turned into an army of several hundred. Creatures flocked to her side from all over Narnia, drawn in deep by the promise of power – stone statues of animals began appearing in the forests and soon enough, the tree-dryads brought the grave news of the Dwarves having joined Jadis' fast-growing force, crafting fine weapons of steel and iron to feast on our blood. The first time her army and the Narnian army clashed, the plains ran red for days afterwards.

The ballads of my coming turned into battle songs of my might on the battlefield, lyrical stories of how I danced and wove and tore the opposing side apart. The poets were romantics, as all poets tend to be – they exaggerated battles and skirmishes, down-sized wounds and the deaths of my comrades. They omitted all together the nights and days I spent hidden, searching for my Father and lying pressed down to the earth, listening to Narnia grieve her lost children. They turned their eyes away and pretended not to notice my face and hands stained with blood as we returned from battle after battle, weary and bitter and torn apart with guilt – those we killed and were killed by were our Brothers and Sisters, turned away from us and deemed as the Fallen, but nevertheless our people.

_(days I would spend in the forests, cradled by the branches of the dryads and mourning – I was crafted so delicately by Aslan, purely of Narnian elements and His breath and sometimes it was as if I _was _Narnia, and those that fell beneath my arrows and blades were _my _children.)_

Archenland to the south sent us soldiers, sent us supplies, but they grew wary about it all – battles were fought, and battles were lost, but Jadis was _magic _and she was powerful, and she was cunning, and she had numbers at her side. Narnians were losing both their hope and the war, and our faith seemed like it was no longer enough.

(Narnia never fought a war before, you see – we were a peaceful country, and from the day She was created, Her inhabitants were merry and kind and knowledgeable. We had a King and Queen who were good and loyal and crowned by Aslan Himself, and sure, we had conflicts with the giants to the north and countries further to the south and those who tried to invade and get a stronghold, but they were always solved and Narnia _never got the chance to grow._)

In the months that followed, as a Guardian of Narnia – her Warden, her Protector, her Light, her Sword; all those titles and more that were applied to me – I grew in the way that Narnia never did, and I fought and I killed and I changed.

Somewhere in those fields of bloodshed and carnage, of magic flying and trees shuddering, I realized that this was my destiny, the purpose of my creation. So I steeled myself for it, and let the feelings of war overtake the soft voice of Narnia crooning inside of me.

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Jadis' smile is fierce, satisfied – she knows she's won. So does my Queen, and so do I, somewhere deep within my heart. Two years of feuding have passed, and I can feel Narnia beginning to shut down even now, the faintest traces of ice appearing at the edges. The meadow we're in already looks colder, stiller; the frost I felt under my back when I first woke up has been spreading, and there are patterns of it covering the grass. I loved winter in Narnia with all my heart, but right now, I hated the snow that was sure to fall with all that I had.

"The Lady - Amalea," Jadis repeats, striding closer towards me with the grace of a queen - I've always wondered, if somewhere beyond the veil of this reality, she once ruled a kingdom that fell under her fingertips; Narnia has been etched with traces of her since the very beginning of time, but She refuses to tell me the tales.

The Witch's face grows sharper, crueller, as she takes in my appearance; I glare at her, baring my teeth, animal-like – no one here is truly human, a Daughter of Eve, save Her Majesty Desdemona. Jadis is too powerful, too tall and too enchanting to be a real woman – to be a Queen of Narnia.

She motions to my captor and the minotaur steps back, taking his axe with him. I have the space of about five seconds to breathe freely before I'm hoisted in the air by Jadis, her cold fingers wrapped around my neck; my feet dangle a few inches off the ground, for even though I am taller than the average woman of Archenland, Jadis' blood seems to run with that of the giants'. Her fathomless eyes peer into mine, pale pink lips twisted in disgust and mockery as she tightens her hold on my throat. We stare at each for a few seconds, silent, the only noise in the meadow coming from those around us – Akshay's laboured breaths, her creatures' restless shifting; Desdemona's last quiet gasps of air.

I know what Jadis sees, what she finds so disturbing – my eyes are the color of Aslan's, molten gold and slightly ethereal. My hair falls in an untamed wave down my back, a shade off from His mane – it's torn and even more wild than usual, having fallen out of its bun long ago. Black spots dance along the corners of my vision as the fingers tighten and loosen in her anger. I can see her trying to reign it in, to take the moment to boast in her victory – and just like that, as if something has been set aright inside of her, her fingers relax enough for me to breathe and a smile of horrendous beauty overtakes her.

"Daughter of _Aslan_," she spits out the name, her body twitching just the tiniest bit, and I find in myself a small sliver of satisfaction at the pain His name brings to her. "Do you know why I am here?"

I refuse to answer her, even if her words do make my curiosity rise – the Queen, Akshay and I were thought to be safely hidden away, far from Cair Paravel after it was overtaken. We ran from the house of Badgers that were so kind as to offer us their assistance, to the forests just beyond Rush River. There was no soul alive except the three of us who were aware of where we were—

My blood almost freezes in my body, and my breath along with it – I suddenly have difficulty forcing air into my lungs again, and this time Jadis' hands still holding me up have nothing to do with it.

"Amalea," Akshay repeats himself, and I realize that he must have known this entire time. He doesn't need to say anything else (for he and I have been together since I was created, and he has been my dear and beloved Tiger guard and companion for the entire short period of my life), and a shudder passes through me. My brain refuses to accept the logic, chanting _nononono _over and over again; Jadis' smile widens, her grip tightening as she takes one hand off to reach somewhere within the folds of her dress.

The item she brings out is small in-between her thumb and index finger, but the sight of it makes all the difference in the world. She holds up the band of pure gold before my eyes, inscribed with bronze – there is only one word on it.

_Amalea._

"Do you know whom this belonged to?" Jadis says, voice smooth like churned butter. She holds it still for a few seconds, goading me, before flinging it somewhere on the ground – my eyes follow it, disbelieving, before I turn back to her.

"_You lie!" _I snarl out, my voice shaking, and start to claw at her hand around my throat. She watches me, amused, before reaching out to catch my left palm with hers – I fall motionless, jaw clenched, knowing what it is that has captured her attention.

"Why," she says, sliding a nearly similar ring off my finger. "You have the exact same one."

It stays there in her grip for a few seconds before joining its partner on the ground. All of a sudden, the Witch's smile drops off her face and she brings me closer, both hands back on my throat as she hisses right to my face. "What fools these humans are," she jeers, voice only loud enough so everyone here can hear her. "So _easy _to fall to betrayal for petty things such as _love_."

"YOU LIE!" I roar back at her, attempting to jerk out of her grip; she holds steady as I struggle against her, and everyone in the clearing is silent. I can feel tears beginning to gather at the corners of my eyes and I refuse to let them fall before the enemy, knowing that it'll just bring more pleasure to the Witch.

"I do not lie," Jadis' voice pierces through the haze of emotion that's beginning to settle around me – my eyes seek out hers, and she looks simply gleeful. "Imagine my surprise when a Son of Adam comes before me, offering the life of the barbarian Queen in return for the safety of _yours._" A sort of trembling instigates within me, small shudders growing to full-out shivers in a matter of seconds; my vision darkens and brightens, the will to fight her just seemingly floating out of me. My hands fall to my sides and I let her hold me there, my posture slack as the shock begins to settle.

"Lea," my Queen calls me from where she is fading from this realm, surely on her way to Aslan's Country. Her voice is weak, but I know that she has the knowledge that she will see Him soon, and her face stays stubborn to the very end.

"My Queen," I acknowledge, just as quiet and defeated, and that is our good-bye.

I'm thrown to the ground and hit with something hard – most likely the minotaur's axe – and the last things I see as my consciousness begins to fade again are the two engagement rings on the ground just out of my reach – one which is inscribed with my name, and the other I know has _Gabranth _written in the same script – and Queen Desdemona in the background falling to a pool of her own blood as Jadis' retrieves her wand, stained with scarlet, before driving it into the woman's heart.

Akshay roars somewhere from behind me, and I let his name escape my mouth in a whispered prayer before the abyss claims me.

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I drift back into consciousness several times during the journey back to Jadis' castle, each time only long enough to be tied up to a tree and fed a meagre amount of gruel served by the minotaur and led somewhere to relieve myself. Akshay and I are forced to separate sides of the encampment each time, and I can sense his eyes on me as I stay silent and unresisting every time I am awake. A sort of fog has set over my brain, clouding all senses and desires to free myself as images play in my head over and over again – Desdemona dead on the grass like so many others that fell before her; the frantic run from the Badgers' house to the forest; and my letter to Gabranth, carried by an owl that volunteered late in the night the day before.

_The Queen Desdemona, Akshay and I have gone into hiding a day's ride worth west of the Rush River, in the abode of a kind family of Badgers. I pray to Aslan that He will keep us safe before our troops reorganize themselves after the fall of our Cair Paravel. My heart yearns to see you soon, my beloved. With all my love and may the Lion bless you - Amalea._

If the minotaur ever sees the tears streaming down my cheeks as he carries me over his shoulder with Narnia shuddering under each of his footsteps, he never points them out to me.

By the time we reach the White Witch's castle, hidden between two hills rising to the west of Ettinsmoor, I find that I no longer have any tears left to cry for the man that has betrayed me.

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The Witch's castle is still in the process of being built by the time we arrive. Two tall spikes of towers reach up as if to touch the sky overhead, creatures of Narnia running amock as they hurry to finish it. It stands glistening under the sun, made entirely of solid ice – we pass through a courtyard leading up to the entrance, and I take in the stone statues of my brethren littering the grounds with empty eyes. Akshay has been quiet the entire time as well, and I wonder not for the first time what it is that Jadis plans to do with us.

"Take them," the Witch orders her servants, speaking for the first time since Desdemona's death, still floating above the clouds from her conquest. My heart begins to pound as the Wolves drag Akshay in the opposite direction of where I am being led, nudged along by two Wolves smaller in size than he is, and I begin to struggle against the hold the Fallen Narnian has against me for the first time.

"Shay!" I cry out, clawing at the strong grip of my captor has around me, suddenly desperate to reach my friend. The Witch stops, looking interested as I thrash about for several moments in vain. The Tiger manages a glance back as the Wolves force him along, and his eyes make me stop dead in my attempts.

"This is not good-bye," I vow loudly so my words reach him, setting my jaw and feeling the old spark of myself come back to life, if only just for a moment. Approval shines in his face and I watch him as he disappears behind a steel blue corner, ignoring the creatures that have stopped their work to watch the exchange. I pay no attention to their fascinated, triumphant faces and turn back to my minotaur, shaking his arm off of me.

"I am more than capable of walking by myself," I say, my voice cold and set. He just sneers and pushes me along with the tip of his axe digging into my back, Jadis' chuckles floating behind me. I am taken through the half-finished stronghold – Jadis will not be able to sit at the throne of Cair Paravel, for only a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve is permitted there – and the knowledge brings a warm glow of sick pleasure in me. Statues are set in disarray everywhere, from small brave mice with their swords in their paws to charging centaurs, proud and noble even in their petrifaction. I pass with my back held straight and chin up, refusing to bow to anyone in the presence of the Fallen Army; it is only when I am thrown into a cell below grounds in the dungeons and locked away that I let my shoulders slump and eyes close.

I dream of recurring memories of days spent with Desdemona at Cair; of learning the beauty of Narnia with Akshay by my side, ever patient; of battles fought and late nights of strategy meetings; and of a soldier from Archenland, fair-haired and dark-eyed – the days spent together both training and alone, held comfortably within his warm embrace and feeling as if no evil could reach me there. Nights spent in each other's company, his lips on mine and the passion of fire between us – his words, heavy with emotion and eyes full of love as he whispers in the dead of night; _"Become my betrothed, my darling Amalea."_

The finger where my ring sat for several weeks sat feels heavy even though it is empty. I stare at it for hours at a time, chasing the feelings of heartbreak and love away as best as I can – with hate. My blood begins to heat as I let the warrior persona of myself overtake me, whispering words of _How dare he betray Narnia _into my ear. Jadis stops by after what must be not even a day, her skin paler than ever in the harsh lighting of the dungeons.

"Daughter of Aslan," she sneers at me from the other side of the bars. I take note of the diadem of icicles now crowning her head, and feel sick. "Your lover has betrayed you. He lies dead in the courtyard, his bones scattered among the statues of dumb animals." I clench my jaw at her words, a morbid sort pleased feeling rising at the bottom of my stomach. She leans as close as she can to the barrier between the two of us, her wand clenched tight in her hand.

"Tell me where your Father is," Jadis says, voice quiet but hard, but almost as if trying to persuade me. "And I will not kill you in agony."

A mad sort of laughter comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. "You must be joking, Witch," I sneer at her, teeth pulled back as we glare at each other. "I would rather have all of my fingers chopped off and my ribcage torn out by your Wolves than betray my country."

The grip she has on her wand has tightened so much I can see her muscles moving underneath her skin. "If that is what you wish," she whispers and lifts her head, staring me down. "You will be publicly beheaded by the Eastern Sea in two days time." That smile of everything wrong in the world plays onto her mouth again, made almost sweet by her beautiful facade. "I will lop your head off myself."

I watch her disappear up the stairs with an almost insane glint in my eyes. "One day," I call to her back, and she pauses. "Aslan will find you, Jadis, and your immortality will come to an end once and for all."

It is she who laughs this time, and replies, without turning to face me – "Where is your Lion at this very moment, barbarian? He has abandoned His country, and it is _mine to rule._"

And then she is gone, and I am left with my breath forming clouds of white in the air from the cold and the silhouettes of Narnians frozen into the walls of the cells.

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The surroundings of my dream are dark, stretching on forever. I gaze around, trying to find a pinprick of light, feeling dismayed.

"My Daughter," says a voice behind me, and I whirl around to face the great form of Aslan.

"Father!" I cry, running forward to throw my arms around His mighty neck. He lets me burrow my face into His mane, inhaling the scent of peace and serenity. "Where have you been all this time?" I ask, eyes glistening once I step back to gaze at Him.

He looks back at me, His eyes reflecting a pain and sadness unfathomable for someone such as I. The golden of His fur glows in the darkness, warming my heart. "It is not my place to interfere, dear one," He says, and I frown.

"I don't understand," I admit, one hand still clutched in the comfort of His fur. Aslan lets me, reminding me of the days I would spent curled up in-between His great paws, learning of the Narnian sky and stars. A sort of chuckle comes from the Lion's mouth, deep and ever-knowing.

"But you will one day," He says, voice quiet, and I can't help but bristle. I chew at my lower lip, caught up in a wave of grief all of a sudden – it feels as if the burden of a hundred mountains has settled over my shoulders, casting me under their mighty weight.

"Oh, Aslan, Aslan," I murmur, tears beginning to pour down my cheeks. I let them, unashamed to break down before the figure of my Creator. "What is my purpose in this world, now? My beloved Queen and friends have fallen, my Kingdom is being blanketed by snow, and my lover has taken my trust and shattered it. What is it that I am left to do?"

"Daughter," says the Lion, and with that one word and look in His eyes I realize that He has created this country and knows of the grief running within my veins, perhaps even more so than I do. "There is a purpose in everyone - yours lies far off from here, when the snow has lifted and when Adam's flesh and Adam's bone sit at the thrones of Cair Paravel."

"The snow shall never lift," I reply bitterly, for I have seen Jadis for all that she was a long time ago. "The Witch is cruel and greedy, and she will fight tooth and nail to keep her hold of Narnia covered with snow."

"Do you doubt me, Daughter?" Rumbles the great Lion, His voice reverberating through my bones, and I fall silent, reminded once more of just who stands before me. "You may hate me now, but I will grant you two choices." He pauses, watching me, and my grip on His mane tightens. I could never hate Him. "You may lie here and die by the hand of the White Witch and have your bones scattered in the wind alongside the traitor you call your lover. Or you will come to where I take you, to a land so far away that even I cannot reach you there as I am now, and wait for my call to fulfill your purpose in Narnia."

A deep-seated anger starts up in my breast at the mention of my fiancé; I had loved him dearly, with all my heart, but he had betrayed Narnia and my love for Aslan and my country was even greater than the Eastern Sea. "I will follow you to wherever you wish to take me, Father," I reply, raising my head and strengthening my voice. The Lion brings His nose upon my cold forehead in approval, and a feeling of joy spreads throughout me.

"Remember me, my Daughter, for I never abandon what is mine." He says, the words filling my skull as I close my eyes to listen to Him. I begin to feel light, as if I am being lifted by the playful winds of Narnia, tossed about from cloud to cloud. "Remember that your flesh and blood is made of Narnian soil and Narnian air. Remember that your very own life was blown into you by my breath, and that Narnia is the true home of your heart. No matter how far you will go, never forget that you are made of light and that you shall forever have a purpose to fulfill."

I rise and step back from my Father as He gives off a mighty roar, shaking me to my core, and in the darkness there comes light – it splits down, rips through the fabric of the abyss and hums with life. I stare at the doorway for a few moments, transfixed, before turning back to Aslan and winding my arms around Him one last time.

"Thank you, Father," I whisper, and feel one of His paws gently embracing me back.

"Be strong, Amalea," He states and pushes me back lightly, urging me on. I gulp down my fears and insecurities, trusting in His words, and head for the doorway of light made entirely in the confines of my mind.

_Goodbye Narnia, _I bid to the land, and it whispers back, caressing my soul with her gentle love.

_Goodbye, dear one._

I step through without looking back.

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There is some sort of shift in my surroundings – a feeling of moving, something warm beating around my body. My breaths come in shorter, my eyes closing by a will not my own – the silence is broken by voices, loud and shouting something. My limbs feel as if they are growing smaller, my body not my own and different. I feel – soft. Frail.

I open my eyes to the light, and what is left of me recognizes the blurry figures above me as humans. Then I am swept away, to a place hidden somewhere deep within this thin shell, and let instincts take over.

I open my mouth and begin to wail – somewhere within those screams of an innocent, I think I can hear a lion's one final roar.

"Congratulations," comes a man's voice from somewhere beyond the haze as my consciousness curls into itself and begins to slumber. "You have a daughter."

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**Please leave a review if you've gotten this far - I look forward to hearing what you guys have to say. :)**


	2. The Way Out

**Disclaimer: **The Chronicles of Narnia and all its characters belong to C.S Lewis; various characters here belong to me.

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**2**

The Way Out**  
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"_I am not a child now,  
I can take care of myself."_

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A month before my life changes, I dream.

Now, see here – my nights are usually full of dreams that speak nonsense and flash by so quick that I don't remember them once I wake up. I dream of a land reachable to me only through these dreams; a land with air so pure and soil so soft that being there most certainly feels like walking in one's dream. Except – not to me. I was born from that air and that soil, from that land with wind so sweet that when you open your mouth and breathe, it tastes like the richest of candies a child's allowance will buy them. Learning to walk – to read, to talk, to function as a normal child – was most difficult for me, the person who stepped out from this world's dream into the waking world. To have human bones and human skin; a lanky girl's meager strength in her limbs and eyes that couldn't see each different hair on a person's head – back in my dream, where I was created as one that is not human but merely steals their appearance, to experience the childhood I never had (for when I was created, it was for battle, and children have no place on the battlefield). To go from being a grown woman, a woman meant for being a warrior, a warrior meant to kill and to protect, into the soft shell of a human newborn with bones so fragile I'm always in danger of breaking even as I am now; a newborn who cannot move on her own or speak on her own, or even will her body to stay awake for even more than a few hours.

Most will never know that feeling of opening your eyes, and realizing you are no longer yourself, not only in spirit, but in _everything._

And so I, something from a dream in a sixteen year old girl's body, dreamt a dream so odd and slow – vivid in color, taste, scent and touch that it surely could not have been a normal dream.

Four children stand side by side at an old train station, clad in clothes that have gone out of style many years back. In fact, the train itself is full of kids who look much like they do – they are waving at those still standing on the platform, adults with tears in their eyes (I note that they are mostly women or elderly, so the kids must have been their children) and calling out what are surely goodbyes.

I can make out every speck of paint on the old train idling before me; I can smell the smoke coming from it and the scent of food from somewhere farther away. The ground feels hard and sure beneath me and I reach up to clap my hands over my ears, just to make sure they are there and not torn from me, for sound is the only thing I cannot experience in this dream.

The dream's focal point seems to be on the four children, still standing side by side as a woman frets around them. The tallest one, a boy who must have been only a year or two my junior, has his eyes trained on a regiment of soldiers waiting for their own train to the side – the shortest of the siblings, a little girl with tears in her eyes clutches to her elder sister's hand, watching her mother as if it would be the last time she'd ever see her. I find myself trying to relate, but I can't – the woman who bore me into the world was as warm as a steel pole frozen in the clutches of winter, her husband – my father – only a shade warmer. The last of the four is an awkward looking boy, glaring at the pavement as if it is the cause for all the problems in the world.

I stand still in my strange dream as the family bids their goodbyes, and watch them board the train and wave out of their compartment window before the train gives off a burst of steam, and begins to move away.

They disappear without a sound and I am left standing alone, invisible on the platform of some old country of the past, watching soldiers board and people pass. I don't know how long I spend just standing there – for dreams are very fickle things and terribly hard to understand, much less tell time in – before a voice speaks to me.

"They are heading to war," It says somewhere behind me, and I know this voice with all my heart, but even in my dreams my heart has stopped trying to reach me.

"Even the children?" I find myself asking, watching the horizon where the train disappeared, and the voice chuckles.

"Especially the children," It says, and then I open my eyes.

I just lie there in the middle of the night, trying to gather scenes from the dream that had just taken me away, but it is futile – they float away, much like clouds do in skies overhead.

A month later, all I know is that I dreamt something very odd indeed.

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

"The day you finally open that cold heart of yours," Camille Vendelin says to me the day after school lets out for summer, "Is the day that the first sign of the Apocalypse will come."

A slightly affronted look comes over my face. "That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

The girl shrugs with her dainty shoulders, and takes a sip from the mouth of her bottle of vodka. "Face it, Leanne. You've got to be the most frigid bitch I know." Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "And I'm saying this as the closest thing you've got to a friend."

I'm silent as we watch fireworks begin to bloom in the night sky. There's a party going on somewhere and we're sitting on the balcony of the Vendelin's penthouse, watching the lights of New York swallow up the night sky. Camille hums beside me, olive skinned and dark haired – her eyes slide over to me, sly, a murky green and I see myself reflected in them. If she is the colors of the earth, then I am the colors of the sky – pale with hair that is nearly golden, offset by shades of brown.

"Golden eyes," the beautiful girl would tease me, one hand mockingly tilting my chin towards her. I'd smile at her, patiently waiting for her to grow bored of the games.

"I like animals," I say at last as the silence stretches between us, stars eclipsed by clouds and smog and skyscrapers. Traffic screams below in the city that never sleeps, and those green eyes of Camille's roll themselves at me.

"That's bestiality," she snaps and I can't help but smile. Camille though, not one to be ignored, leans closer to me and narrows her gaze.

"I'm being serious, Le_anne_." She drawls out my name, eyes surprisingly clear for someone who's been drinking for the past hour. "I'm not saying this world is made of shit like – like _fairy dust, _or something, but there's nothing wrong with dating around and enjoying life."

I blink back at her, tilting my head to the side. "You mean sleeping around," I say, the corners of my lips quirked in amusement – Camille lets the barb fly over her, and her mouth opens wide as she laughs, white teeth glinting in the cast off lights of our city. Each warm night that I spend like this, relaxing by the side of a girl one could refer to as my best friend, feels slightly surreal – people rush by underneath, and it feels like the day is nowhere near ending. Time spent ticking away on this balcony feels like it's been put on pause just for the two us.

Camille is almost nineteen and set to attend Boston University come autumn. She's focusing on me now, again, and I wonder if she's drunk, and having someone moment of revelation. She stretches, feline-like, and chuckles into the air.

"You're sixteen," she sings out, reaching out to curl a lock of my hair in-between her fingers. I let her because I found a long time ago that she doesn't care for other's personal space, and just furrow my brow at her. She giggles, tugging on my hair so that I lurch forward at the sudden motion – her face is suddenly right there in front of me, and she's grinning. "This is the age to do stupid things and fuck your life up while you can."

I roll my eyes, ignoring the smell of alcohol on her breath. "I'll take a rain check on that," I say to her and she frowns in disappointment. She tugs at my hair again, harder, and winds her arms around my shoulders in a hard embrace.

"You're such a bitter little girl," she says into my neck, her breath tickling the skin there. I flinch at the contact, annoyed at the fact that she is testing my patience and is fully aware of it. The elder girl laughs, her nails digging into my back through the material of my shirt – I figure we must make a pretty odd picture, two beautiful girls on a balcony under the falling sparks of the flowers in the sky, one completely still and emotionless as the other traps her within her cage of winding arms. _Like the sun and the moon, _my father would tease me whenever he'd see us together during the rare times he'd be paying attention.

"My fierce little lioness," Camille continues talking nonsense against me, giggling, but her words make me tense and I clench my jaw, pushing her away.

"You're drunk," I comment, masking my face to hide the twinge of memories her silly nicknames have brought. Camille just watches me, smiling her odd, wide lopsided smile as if she knows all the secrets a person holds within their heart.

It's with years of practice that I don't shudder under it. "You need to let go," Camille counters back, voice frosty, and it's my turn to laugh.

"I have _no _idea what you're talking about," I say, and grab my purse to leave. I can feel her eyes boring into my back as I go, navigating my way through the dark apartment from memory and years of spending time in it. I don't stop until I'm well outside – I feel the urge to glance up to where I know Camille is still leaning on the balcony sill, and consider it for a few seconds before deciding not to give her the satisfaction. I catch a taxi back to my house and let myself in, stopping to flood the rooms with light. My parents are out somewhere as always, busy, and I throw my shoes off in the hall before heading to my room.

Flinging myself onto my bed I sigh, staring up at the large mural of a lion I had asked to be painted on the ceiling when I was seven. Its eyes stare back (the wrong color, not nearly enough emotion and _flat_) and I scrunch up my nose in distaste. I lift one of my arms and pretend I'm close enough to touch the dried paint above me; I imagine that it's bright and warm, and that I'm not lying on a sea of pillows and blankets, but on a field of emerald grass under an otherworldly summer sky, reaching up for the sun and listening to a centuries-old voice whisper lullabies into my ears.

I can almost hear the birds chirping when a siren rushes by outside and I am snapped out of my daydream – groaning, I roll over and burrow my face into a pillow.

That night, I dream of a train station and of good-byes.

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

If you'd have asked the people around me about what I was like, you'd get a slay of words that essentially meant the same thing: cold. Aloof. Distant. Stuck up and pretentious. If you'd have asked the few people I considered even borderline friendly, you'd have gotten much the same answer as before. I was proud, sometimes cocky to a fault. I tended to be pessimistic in situations, and sarcastic and prone to arguing when in a bad mood.

And of you'd have asked me?

Well, I wouldn't have even given you the time of day.

And that's how I grew up – as the daughter of two New York socialites, a beautiful girl whom people whispered about as she stood by her parents, smiling and still as a statue. I was a child growing up surrounded by luxury and ghostly, never-there parents – to many people I met, that sounded like a great lifestyle they were jealous of. I, on the other hand, let myself become more introverted as time went on, drawing comparisons between this world and the world I was once created to, unapproachable by others and longing for a place I could only see in my dreams. As years passed I felt myself growing bitter with the passage of time, letting shades of a betrayal that happened years ago fester inside of me from the moment I was born, shrieking and wailing and clad in the shell of a newborn. I watched this strange, dirty Other-World that paled in comparison to my home from the eyes of a spoiled girl growing up in the city that never sleeps and promised myself that I'd never let my heart love another man again.

Many people paid me compliments as I grew up, genuinely smiling or trying to get to my parents, and I smiled and thanked them for whichever one it was – but if they had looked just a little deeper, paid a little more attention, beyond my body and my clothes and the face carved out by my parents' features, they'd have realized that I had let myself become one of the ugliest things alive in this world.

And, knowing that perfectly well, I went on with my life, slowly giving up on returning to Narnia as the months flew by.

Until the year in which I turned sixteen, and my dreams became the reality.

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

My parents had a summer house somewhere down south they liked to visit from time to time – it was a beautiful place, much smaller and calmer than our lives in New York. It was surrounded by a forest, the trees of which towered over my head and murmured leafy stories of times long past. The house was secluded from the outside world, almost as if it sat in a protective bubble of its own, and I looked forward to going there every year, eager to get away from the rush of everyone else in the city. The air seemed almost familiar in its scent, and I would bring a blanket and a knapsack and camp out behind the house, falling asleep under the constellations of a lit up sky.

It is the beginning of August when we go down there this year around. Sarah, our housekeeper (whom my parents insist on coming with us) is setting up dinner as we wait for my parents to arrive later in the day. The nature outside calls to me and I slip out and head across the porch and into the familiar paths of my forest, breathing in deep and already beginning to feel lighter as I push branches away from my face.

Bird calls sound around me and I glance over my shoulder, heading further and further back until I can't see any signs of civilization anymore. I've never gotten lost in my forest before, ever since I first saw it as a four year old toddler and gave my nanny a heart attack when I began towards it with determination in my eyes. I keep a cell phone on me at all times just in case when I'm back in the city, and I finger it in my pocket as I trod through the sunlight speckled ground. A breeze picks up and suddenly feeling silly, I do a little twirl, imagining myself in an old fashioned dress that would swirl around me and not a pair of jean shorts, runners and basic tank top.

The trees fall silent as I continue on, a skip in my step that no one back home would ever be allowed to see – an old, wordless Narnian lullaby comes to my mouth and I begin to hum it, letting my eyes slip partway closed as I move on. A noise from somewhere near me some minutes later startles me and I freeze, watching the undergrowth from where it came from with bated breath.

A second passes, and then a brown rabbit bounces out, its nose twitching as it pauses and sniffs the air. Its eyes find me and I relax, letting out a small smile as the animal continues staring at me.

"Good day to you, Dear Rabbit," I fall into a half-curtsy, letting myself be swept away by a game of pretend I'd enjoy on and off when alone. Its ears twitch at the sound of my voice and the critter stays still, much to my surprise. I continue on, feeling lighter than I have in ages. "Would you, perhaps, point out the way to Cair Paravel for me?"

In my imagination, its whiskers tremble as its mouth curls into a smile. "Why of course, my Lady." He raises himself on his hind paws and jerks his head in the direction I was walking before. "It's just beyond that clearing of trees, over yonder to the east. Why, I do believe you can hear the pounding of the Eastern Sea from here, even now!"

"Thank you very much," I say, taking note for the first time that the rabbit is much larger than any other I have ever seen before. "May your day continue on in peace and joy."

I leave the rabbit behind and hear it returning to its undergrowth a few seconds later as I continue on, mulling over the strange fact of the large rabbit. A curious feeling begins within me as I reach the clearing the animal had pointed out earlier – a feeling of something familiar and dear. A shaft of light flirts with the branches of several trees blocking my view and I push them away, squinting against the sudden sun blazing right onto my face.

I blink open my eyes, one hand raised up to shield my eyes, and nearly stagger back into the forest at the sight that meets me. A sharp cliff sits just to my left, frothy waves rolling up alongside it and splashing against the dirt, stone and sand there. A giant castle of sprawling stone towers, walls and arches stands against a cloudless, sapphire sky on a cliffside in the distance, almost gleaming under the sun as it bares its banner proudly at the peak.

I realize that a sort of trembling has overcome me, starting at the tips of my fingers and ending at the back of my neck and the soles of my feet. My vision begins to blur in a myriad of color and I stagger on my feet, trying to keep balanced and trying to breathe at the same time.

"Cair Paravel," I manage to choke out through the ball of emotions clogging up my throat all of a sudden. "I'm – home."

A breeze rushes by, playing with my hair as it sweeps my bangs across my forehead, tender and kind and familiar. Within it, I imagine I can make out Narnia's well-beloved voice, caressing my face and skin in a brief embrace.

_Welcome back, dear heart._


	3. To Be Born At World's End

**Disclaimer: **The Chronicles of Narnia and all its characters belong to C.S Lewis; various characters here belong to me.

* * *

**3**

To Be Born At World's End

* * *

_"In my head your voice, you've got all that I need  
and this make believe will get me through another lonely night."_

* * *

.

.

* * *

"_Amalea_," a voice calls from somewhere behind me.

I tense at the sound of my old name. Cair Paravel's banner flirts with the wind before me in the distance, taunting me, and with a deep seated fear of it all disappearing from me once again I turn around. The forest has melted before my eyes into an impressive wall of water – it rises from the line of the horizon and goes higher than my eyes can see, sparkling in the bright golden sun. Foam tumbles down and is swept back away to repeat the whole process, posing an eternal obstacle like the snake swallowing its own tail.

A scent I hadn't noticed before hits me and I sniff at the air, then open my mouth to breathe in deep the sweet aroma. My tongue escapes to wet my lips, a deep sense of nostalgia rising at the bottom of my stomach – a soft wind swoops down and sends the grains of sand around my feet into a silly frenzy. I move my feet slowly as I turn to gaze at the perimeter of the long stretch of land, eyes beginning to water as a field of white meets my vision.

A sea of lilies floats on the water, each flower bobbing softly up and down on the waves. A particularly large one sends a flower sweeping right to my feet and I bend to pick it up, cradling its soft petals with my fingers.

"Where the sky meets the sea…" I croon to it, bringing it close to my nose to inhale its scent. "…Sail away and come find me in this eternity…"

"It warms my heart to see that you still remember your song," the same voice says behind me and I whirl around, dropping the flower at my feet.

"Dear heart," Aslan rumbles, His mane shining copper and gold before me. "Welcome home."

My Father's name gets caught in my throat as I rush forward and throw myself at Him, bringing us both down onto the warm beach. The Lion laughs as we tumble around with my arms wound around Him and my tears staining His fur in the place of my birth, the End of the World and the entrance to His Country where I spent so much time at the beginning of my life.

"Aslan," I finally manage to choke out, unashamed of how completely ridiculous I look. I keep my hands buried in His mane as we sit side by side, my fingers combing through the strands. They twitch in restraint as I manage to keep myself from starting to braid, a nervous habit I developed in my childhood. "Why now?"

Aslan chuckles, nudging my arm with His nose until I fall inbetween His paws and for a brief moment as I look up at Him, His face looms above me, larger than life itself – I feel like merely a collection of energy and spirit as I once was, a feeling that I have not felt for more than sixteen years.

Then all is right again and His face is just that of the noblest lion to ever exist. "I missed you more than I can express," I say, marveling at how His face seems to have undergone a change – His fur seems to be paler, sparser. His eyes are sadder than what I remember them to be. "What happened, Aslan?"

"Look around you," He urges me and I sit up, craning my neck to take in the view. Sea and sky and lilies fill my line of vision and I bite at my bottom lip, confused.

"There is nothing here but the End of the World," I say. "The Witch's winter wouldn't have affected it, right?"

His jowls twitch into a smile. His voice is gentle as He says, "The Great Winter is already over, Amalea."

* * *

.

.

* * *

"I don't quite understand, Father." We're side by side again as I lie on the sand, making sand angels as I ponder over the years I've missed in my homeland. "I'm no longer your Daughter… I have the skin and bones of a human. I can't fight. I have horrible instincts… I can't dodge a sword. I can't even _lift _a sword." I make a frustrated noise at the back of my throat, gathering a bunch of sand into my fists before letting it flow back down. "I'm useless to you now. I'm only your Daughter in spirit."

There is a shift of air beside me as Aslan's eyes meet that of my own. "Have you forgotten what I told you?" He questions. "Though it as you say, you have always been a creature of Narnia at heart, my dear, and what is in one's own heart will never change."

His words make me grin and I lean up on my elbows. "Thank you," I reply, my heart warmed at His belief in me. "But I still can't fight. I can't do anything, Aslan… I feel as if I am nothing but a ghost of my former self. I will never be Amalea, Daughter of Aslan ever again… she exists only in name as the one who failed all of Narnia."

"Amalea," the Lion chides, turning His head in the direction of Narnia's eastern coast. "This is an era of peace. You had seen it for yourself when you saw the banners of Cair Paravel proudly shown, yet you chose not to believe it." His eyes meet mine again and I avert them over His shoulder, guilty. "Look at me, Amalea."

I swallow down the feelings of guilt and frustrated anger disguising my hurt and follow His command. "You have grown bitter and jaded over the years, Daughter." My jaw tenses at His soul searching gaze, narrowing my back as I stand straighter at the accusation.

"Yes, I have," I reply back, staring at Him head on. For the briefest of moments I think that I can see a flicker of hurt in His eyes as He sees the hurt and anger encasing my heart in a shell, but then it is gone and He heaves a great sigh.

"You have not yet forgiven the man called Gabranth," Aslan says, quiet, and something inside of me snaps at that name.

"_Of course I haven't!_" I cry out, flinging my arms outwards. "He _betrayed _me, Aslan! To have betrayed me is to have betrayed Narnia herself! He led Narnia – my home, my heart, my one _self _– into the arms of that Witch and threw her into that frigid winter!"

"Amalea!" Aslan roars. His breath sends me stumbling nearly to my feet in submission and I force myself to stand against it, clenching my eyes tight so the tears don't escape again.

"I have already cried more than enough for that man," I bite out through clenched teeth, digging my nails into the palms of my hands. "He deserves not another drop of my sympathy. He does not deserve even a spot in the memories of my heart!"

"That's enough, child." An even stiller silence has fallen over the island, calming my racing heart. "I cannot change how you feel about him. That is also not the reason that I have brought you here for."

"I'm sorry," I say, swallowing down my feelings and pushing them aside. "That was unnecessary. Why have you brought me here, Father?" _Why now, _it goes unsaid between us. _Why now, why not when I suffered all those years? Why not before I made myself grow cold and into someone your Daughter would have been ashamed of?_

The look in Aslan's eyes darkens. "Although the winter has been banished and a new Golden Age has begun, Jadis herself will never truly die." My heart sinks at His words.

"Because she's a piece of Narnia just like you are," I say softly, my shoulders dropping at the thought. The Lion nods, gazing in the direction of Narnia again.

"Her darkness has left a stain on Narnia," He murmurs, voice distant but strong. "Shadows of her reign still amble through the forests and the meadows, stretching from the land of the Giants to the borders of Archenland."

A sad smile quirks at my lips as I join Him in staring at the direction of our land. "I can't hear her anymore," I muse. "And I will never be able to again, will I?"

"No," Aslan agrees, and His admission makes the hurt grow stronger for a second before settling back into the dull throb it's been in for the past several years.

"What is she saying?" I shift on my feet, curious and scared all at once.

Aslan turns His head to me, somber. "She is overjoyed for you, Amalea. She is content with the new Age, and is nearly bursting with happiness – but she is also scared, because she can sense the darkness lingering at the corners where her light cannot reach."

I let an "oh" escape from my mouth. "Is that why I'm here?" I yearn to lie down on the ground and close my eyes, reassure the one that had been my Mother with promises and whispers. My Creator nods and I purse my lips in thought. "What can I do though? I'm just another Daughter of Eve now."

"There are four Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve at Cair Paravel. They are good rulers – kind, courageous, strong, faithful. They restored Narnia to her former glory and they are adored by many of Narnia – they have made peace treaties with countries that Narnia has had many a trouble with before."

I blink, impressed. "I'm happy that you found someone like that, Father. I am indebted to them for loving Narnia as Desdemona, myself, and many others before us have done."

Aslan's chuckle in response to my words startles me. "What is it?"

"There was a prophecy, once," He says, gazing at me with a merry glint in the corners of His eyes. "When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone sit at Cair Paravel's throne, the evil time would be over and done."

I tilt my head to the side. "You said that to me before I left. I was not aware that you had made it into a prophecy…"

A lion's laugh escapes His belly and I chew at my lip, even more so confused. "I was not the one who made it, dear heart," Aslan continues. At my prompting silence, He continues. "The hearts of those who loved Narnia were the one to bring it into existence, Amalea. Yes, even you and the late Queen Desdemona – it was your pride, her loyalty and both your passion that reached for me and spirited all of the wishes and hopes of Narnians into something greater."

I stay quiet after this, unsure of what I should say. The mention of my late Queen has sobered the mood, and my mind flashes to my precious Akshay and his steady, believing look for me as we were separated.

"It is time for us to go, Amalea," the Lion speaks before I can voice my questions, and His sweet breath chases them away from the front of my mind.

"Where are we going?" I ask as He begins to stand, worried and pleased all at once. Aslan shakes His mane off and bares His back for me.

"Come on my back, my Daughter." My eyes shoot up to meet His, surprised, and He nods. Carefully I settle myself on His broad back, laying my cheek against the mane – the smell of the lilies and of Narnian air overwhelms me until I begin to feel sleepy, fighting to keep my eyes open as my Father takes the first few steps across the blue sea. The water ripples underneath His great paws but remains almost as if solid, making smaller and smaller waves beneath His weight as we begin to speed up into a run until there are no traces of the creature speeding across it.

"I told you before that your purpose lay far away from the time you were in," Aslan rumbles beneath me, lulling me into a deep serenity. "That time has come. I ask you to sleep, dear heart, as we make our way to the coast of Cair Paravel. I will not be able to assist you any further, for that road is only for you and one other to take. I have no place on it other than to be there for you to believe in, and to meet you once again at the very end. Your body may be that of a mortal woman, but you have been and always will be my Daughter and the Light that burns brightly at the heart of Narnia." His voice turns softer, and through the small space left between my eyelids, I see the white of the lilies turn to the blue of the sea.

"Sleep well, Amalea… Even if your heart has grown so cold that even my words cannot always penetrate it, I hope that you will dream, and through those dreams you will experience happiness that was so unjustly taken away from you."

I give a hum of assent, barely conscious, and slip my eyes closed. A rush of color blossoms behind my eyelids, reds and yellows and greens and browns, and then the flutter of darkness.

* * *

.

.

* * *

A burst of laughter comes from before me. I am in a tent that takes several moments for my dream mind to recognize – it is one of Narnia's war tents, all the way before the Great Winter. A table and a lantern sit at the center, though lights filters in from outside. It must be almost evening. A map lies spread out before me, and I am at the head of the strategic meeting – my lips are stretched into a smirk, and I am Amalea of Narnia who has no idea who Leanne Griffith even is.

I see the scene from my eyes. My hair tumbles down over my shoulders, and my leathers creak together in a familiar, ghostly sensation. Fauns, centaurs, and even a few Archenland men start to exit outside, and my nose detects the scent of roasted meat and ashes of the fires.

Something is thrown in front of me, right over my map, and I realize that it's a bow and several arrows – crudely made, evidently for beginners. My eyes follow the tanned hand that threw them before me in a blatant challenge to the owner of the arm. A man with golden hair and fierce green eyes stares back at me, a few inches taller than my height, his mouth stretched into a grin.

"Think you're up for it, soldier?" He teases, and my dream self does not even have enough awareness to grow angry.

The me of the past stretches out her hand and grips the offered weapon. "That's Amalea to you, _soldier_," she smirks right back, holding her head high.

Gabranth's smile just widens in the way she'll eventually grow to love, and the consciousness of my present self is completely chased away.

Somewhere from the viewer's perspective, a feeling of doom descends upon me.


	4. The Hardest of Hearts

**Disclaimer: **The Chronicles of Narnia and all its characters belong to C.S Lewis; various characters here belong to me.

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**4**

The Hardest of Hearts

* * *

"_We'd be so less fragile if we're made from metal  
and our hearts from iron, and our minds from steel."_

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

The Lion carries me on His back the entire way. We pass over settlements of mermen, silent as ghosts; ripples form underneath His great paws and those beneath us glance up into the sunshine, only to briefly glimpse the dark form crossing under it before it is gone. They are left to wonder over this occurrence and to glance amongst themselves, eventually shrugging it off and going on with their lives. Water nymphs stop their playing in the waves and still waters as He runs, too quickly for their eyes to see, only a brief figure in the corners of their eyes. Their melodious singing halts as they watch the spot where we had been, a quiet passing over them alongside a sense of humbleness. A sense of greatness, fleeting, before it too is gone and Narnia continues on as she once was.

We run for hours, and appear on the cresting waves of Cair Paravel's coast with the sun rising behind us.

The guards spot us first and there are shouts, yells, and the sound of feet against stone. Aslan pays no attention to them and it is almost as if we are a soft breeze passing through the castle and its gardens, leaving only the rustle of leaves behind us. Servants stop whatever it is they are doing and stare, breathing in the air the Lion leaves in His wake – if emotions had a taste, I'd wager it was His love that was in the halls that day.

We come to a rest in the Audience Hall.

It is a large room held up by ivory columns. They are well cared for, the floor made of marble. Light shines in through the windows and one can catch a glimpse of the Eastern Sea through them, blue and aquamarine and green. Four thrones sit at the top, almost as if on a pedestal – there are stairs leading up to them, and they are all slightly different in size. It is a change from the single throne I am used to, where Queen Desdemona would sit at and rule over all of Narnia.

Of course I see nothing of this, for I am asleep. I make a right sight, lying there on the back of Aslan Himself as sunlight streams down onto us, casting one great shadow onto the floor. My hands clutch at His mane tightly, as one's child would in their sleep; you'd think I would be smiling, but half my face is buried into the gold of His fur and if you looked close enough, so close I would have punched you had I been awake, you'd have seen something like tears gathering at the edges of my eyelids.

A pitter-patter of human feet sounds, for hooves make a different noise upon the stone, and a fair haired young man halts at the sight before him. Another one joins him, a Daughter of Eve with hair a dark shade of brown, both staring at the Lion and I – they are dressed in fine clothes, standing tall and proud. There are crowns of gold upon their heads.

Then the woman, barely older than I, breaks the silence with a gasp and a cry.

"Aslan!"

The great Lion rumbles beneath me, smiling at her. "Susan," He greets, and both of their attention is directed towards me as He turns just slightly, revealing my slumbering form on His back. Had I been awake, I would have been embarrassed – my summer clothes bore so much naked skin that it was deemed indecent in this land – and impressed: both of them tense, even in the presence of the Lion. The King's fingers twitch for the sword hilt at his belt.

The two other monarchs appear behind them, one tall and dark and the other young and auburn haired. Both are smiling, faces bright, but it is the dark haired one that asks the question.

"Who is she?"

A moment of silence, then the youngest of the four steps forward, a crease between her brows. "Aslan, is she alright?"

"She is just fine, Lucy," Aslan replies, a warm note in His voice that I had not heard when I was alive. "She is merely in a deep sleep that she will wake from once it is time. Edmund," He directs his attention to the King with the silver crown of leaves. "Relax your arm, for she is a very dear friend of Narnia."

"Shall we take her to the Infirmary?" The last one to speak asks, stepping forward to offer his assistance.

"A guest room would do just fine, Peter." He pauses, and then turns to look at me over His shoulder, voice quiet. "She has been tired for a very long time now."

There is a brief, confused silence before the one called Peter steps forward and takes me in his arms, my head falling on his shoulder with a soft _thud_. His gait is strong and even as all four begin to exit the Audience Hall, curious with anticipation; Lucy is the one to stop and look back at Aslan still standing in the same spot, her eyes wide.

"Are you not coming with us, Aslan?" She asks hopefully.

"I have done for her all that I can, Lucy," He replies with a small smile, his eyes sad. "Take care of her, my child, for I am afraid she will need someone there to help guide her."

Lucy's brows furrow at His words. "What do you mean?"

The Lion chuckles and shakes His mane. "Until next time, my dear."

Lucy blinks, and He is no longer there.

* * *

.

.

* * *

What they don't know – the three of them and Lucy, catching up – is that the room they place me in is familiar to me. It is funny how life works, both cruel and beautiful in its existence and decisions as they place me on the bed Gabranth slept in during his few visits to Cair Paravel. The two sisters bustle around, trying to make me comfortable as they slip the covers over me while their brothers talk in quiet voices by the door. A guard is called to stand watch outside the room and they leave with one last glance at my still form. Susan chews on her bottom lip for a few moments, then leaves only to come back with several of her dresses to hang in the wardrobe for when I wake up.

Lucy is the one that stays with me, insistent until the very end to follow Aslan's words. Susan tries to convince her several times but her sister is stubborn, and eventually she gives up and goes back to the routine of her days.

The auburn haired girl, my junior by a few years sits by my bedside and watches me breathe in, out, evenly and in peace as I sleep. "You're crying," she whispers at one point in time, and wipes my tears away with a handkerchief.

I dream back to front, end to beginning, death to birth.

* * *

.

.

* * *

_The lights of the burning lantern lick at the walls of the tent, sending shadows playing over the faces of those gathered. Akshay lies behind me, his massive head resting on his front paws and we exchange glances. His liquid gold eyes meet mine with approval, both of us silent as we talk. My soldiers – because that's what they have started to call themselves, the Lion Daughter's Army – wait in silence for our verdict. A few Archenlandian men shift, not used to this command of power; few are fool enough to refer to me as a human woman, and I'm sure my appearance is more than enough to set me apart as a creature of Narnia._

"_The motion has been passed, then," I say when I turn back to the table. A map of Narnia lies spread out before me, curling at the edges from well-use. Statuettes and lines of color mark the positions of my and the Witch's armies. "We'll cut them off at the cliffs overlooking the river, and back them up against the stone with no chances of escape." A few faces look grim at the prospect; others excited, and some even blank. I clench my fingers against the wood tighter. "Dismissed. Pass on to the others that we begin marching at dawn."_

_The fauns, centaurs and men leave the strategy tent in ones and twos, letting scents, voices and laughter filter in from outside. I close my eyes for a second, tired but appeased, letting a smirk pass across my lips. A scent makes it way to my nose, smelling of soap, sweat and some sort of spice. I briefly wonder where one would get the chance to bathe long enough to smell as such and open my eyes to face the Archenlandian soldier left standing in the tent._

"_So you're the one who'll be teaching me, then," I say while looking him over. He is even taller than I, with golden hair smoothed back from his forehead and green eyes staring back at me._

_He throws a bow and several arrows before me, both of which are crudely made and are evidently for beginners. I note that his hands are tanned and covered with calluses – when I raise my eyes, he is smiling back at me._

_Akshay shifts behind me on the ground, almost amused._

"_Think you're up for it, soldier?" The man asks, his voice low and teasing. Akshay moves again and I can tell that he's holding back from commenting._

_I stretch my hand out and grab the offered weapons in my grip. "That's Amalea to you_, soldier_," I reply, holding my head up in acceptance of this challenge. The man's smile widens, and I hold out my hand for him to shake._

"_Gabranth," he introduces and places a brazen kiss on the back of my palm. _

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

"_How old are you, Shay?" I ask one day as we laundry my clothes by the river – that is, I work and Akshay stands guard. It is somewhat unnecessary but certainly not unappreciated._

_I know the Tiger so well that I can tell he's surprised by the question, even though the tone of his voice remains unchanged. "Why do you ask?"_

_I smile to my reflection in the water. "I'm merely curious. We don't celebrate the passing of your age, so I was wondering how many years you've been alive for." I dip a shirt into the stream, keeping my voice light. "That's all."_

_A growl answers me. "Amalea."_

_I fight down the laugh bubbling up inside of me. "Oh, alright. I overheard one of the Cat Battalion members talking about one of his cubs back home, and was wondering why you haven't had any yet." I turn around to look at him, but his back is tense and facing me._

_He sighs. "Amalea, to have cubs one must first have a mate."_

_I furrow my brow. "I know how children are made, Shay."_

_He shifts his shoulders, exasperated. "You're too much trouble for me to leave you alone, let alone have time to find a mate. Besides," he trails off with an amused chuckle. "You're still like a cub yourself, Amalea. I doubt I would want more if they are to be anything like you."_

_My mouth falls open and I laugh. It's a sound that hasn't escaped me in a while, and for a moment I feel carefree. We fall quiet after my moment of joy and I watch my friend._

"_Aren't you lonely?" It slips out without my meaning to. Akshay finally turns to face me. He's smiling._

"_I have you to keep me company, don't I?" He replies, and in seconds I'm up on my feet and tackling him to the warm ground._

"_Amalea!" He roars, laughing as we wrestle playfully - it's almost as if we are children ourselves again. We laze around for some time, watching the clear blue sky, forgetting the blood that stains my clothes and armour lying a few feet away._

_The water rushes by, the birds sing, and Narnia sweeps me in. I close my eyes and just breathe her in._

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

_It's dark, even for night-time. I lie in my cot, exhausted from the day's events, fingers buried in Shay's pelt as he rests beside me._

_Somewhere there comes the sound of Narnia mourning._

"_Shay," I say in the quiet of the tent. "What do you think of Gabranth?"_

_There is a long pause before he replies. "He loves you very much."_

"_...Good." I watch my suit of armour, dark and dirty lying in the corner on a chair. Blood has stained the fabric and metal there, creating pools and patches of rust and burgundy. "I've agreed to marry him come autumn."_

_Silence greets me in answer. "I wish you both congratulations," Shay says at last, and I fight to keep the tremor over his obvious disappointment out of my voice._

"_Thank you."_

* * *

.

.

* * *

I have been asleep for a day now. The nurse of the castle, a kindly yet strict female faun has checked my vitals over already and deemed me perfectly healthy. Lucy sleeps the night in the room, her head cradled by her hands. Her brother Edmund stops by while she does so, draping a blanket over her to keep out the chilly drafts of the night. It is spring, nearly summer, and Narnia is in full bloom.

He watches us both, his sharp eyes trained on my tear stained face, and leaves. The guard outside nods to him as he passes.

* * *

.

_._

* * *

"_Lady Amalea," Her Majesty Desdemona says, a chiding tone in her voice. I raise my head up from where I am whispering to the flowers of Cair Paravel's garden, slightly abashed._

"_You do have permission to refer to me by my given name at any time we are alone, you know." Her Majesty has a small, amused smile on her face – I return the gesture nervously back at her, straightening so we can continue on with our daily stroll._

"_I do not wish to be rude, Your Majesty. I am not in a position to refer to you as such."_

_The woman's smile turns exasperated and she pauses me by placing a hand on my shoulder._

"_Lady Amalea," she says, insistent. "You are the Daughter of Aslan, the Great Emperor. It is I who should be humbled before you, not the other way around."_

_I want to shift on my feet, uncomfortable at my Queen's words, but her hand is still stopping me from doing so. "Very well," I say finally after a moment. "You may call me Amalea, for I am nothing before the Queen of Narnia, whom I am to serve and love as long as she stays true to those who love Narnia within their hearts. I will be honoured to call you Desdemona." Her name rolls off my tongue slowly as I try it out, relieved when the woman's face lights up._

"_Thank you, Amalea," she says, and I think of how lonely she must really be._

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

"_It's funny," Desdemona muses one late night as we relax in her chambers, her fingers running through my hair as I sit beside her on the bed. I feel like a satiated and drowsy cat – much like Akshay, in fact._

"_What is?" I ask, eyes half-closed as I watch the fire burning in the hearth. It sends the room full of brilliant oranges and vibrant reds, making the perfect setting for evening tea._

"_I have been the Queen for many wonderful years, yet I still worry if I am doing a good enough job as her." Her fingers still and I turn slightly to look at the woman._

"_Then that is the mark of a good Queen," I smile, reassuring, and she smiles back. Her fingers start in their grooming again, and I almost feel like purring._

"_I also wonder, sometimes, if my father would have been proud of me," Desdemona continues with a small sigh. "It comes to me at night when I am sleeping, dreams of him speaking to me. At times it is praise, at others it is words meant to hurt and belittle. I wake up from these visions and they continue to haunt me throughout the day, echoing in my head with every decision that I make."_

_I turn to face her and grab her hands in mine, squeezing. "You father would have been so proud of you – I know he is watching over from Aslan's Country, alongside the late Queen, and he is so, so proud of you, Desdemona. Never doubt it, for you are a great Queen and you are loved by so many."_

_My words seem to undo something in her, for her eyes begin to glisten with the light of tears. Something about seeing this woman, raven haired and dark eyed and beautiful crying at my words strikes me as so very odd and I falter, unsure of what to do._

_Desdemona laughs and wipes away the tears threatening to escape her eyes. "Thank you, Amalea. I dare say that I needed to hear that."_

_I grin in response and tuck my hair behind my ears. "Whenever you begin to doubt yourself, my Queen, just remember what I said – Narnia could not have had a better monarch." My grin turns slightly teasing, and I make a show of closing my eyes and breathing in. "In fact, she says so herself. You can have no better reassurance than that."_

_We both begin to laugh so long and loud that Akshay and Bala, Desdemona's personal Cheetah Guard, poke their heads in from outside. We take one glance at them and laugh louder, tears streaming down our faces. _

_Desdemona is only twenty two and I have been alive for barely a year. We know nothing but peace and serenity._

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

"_Her hair like spun golden silk she moves/One of beauty and of poise/Eyes that burn..." I trail off with a loud burst of laughter as Akshay, Bala and I sit outside, gathered around a paper that I hold in my hands. It is a ballad, titled "The Lion's Daughter" in bold cursive script. "I cannot believe that there are those that write these," I say, wiping tears of mirth away from my eyes._

_My Tiger looks faintly disturbed, and I do not blame him. He growls at Bala, who merely flicks her tail at him in response. "You should not have brought these to her," he says, frowning, and I reach out to run my hand along the fur atop of his head before the Cheetah can reply. She snickers at my obvious displays of affection, ones that are frowned upon even when the Queen does it – of course, having been brought up in Narnia where all the Talking Beasts are equal in status to any human that may come around, she has been taught this since she was a child. I, not yet accustomed to the need to hide my affection for the Tiger, do not obey such boundaries._

_Akshay sends her a look that translates to "look at what you've done to her now" and I grin so wide that my cheeks begin to hurt. Putting down the paper beside me on the stone bench I spring up and begin to twirl on the spot and then away, singing the ballad at the top of my lungs – my laughter keeps coming through, however, and at last I give up and collapse down on the grass. _

"_Shay," I call out, eyes closed as I tap my fingers to the lyrics out on the grass. "Do not worry about it."_

_He grumbles something in response, to which Bala snarls a comment back. I roll over and rest my chin between my palms, watching the two argue with half-lidded eyes before the bell for dinner sounds throughout Cair Paravel. I lie there for a moment in thought before standing up. The paper lies on the bench still, ruffling slightly in the breeze, and I pick it up – the two Talking Beasts stop their arguing for a moment to watch me._

This is silly, _I almost say out loud, and rip the ballad into as many pieces as I can. I clutch the scraps in my hand to dispose of later, and turn to my friends with a raised eyebrow. "Well?" I ask, daring them to comment. _

"_We will be late for dinner if we do not hurry," is all that Bala says. Her voice is smooth and sharp, befitting to that of a soldier. Akshay's eyes shine with approval as he nods._

"_Indeed," he murmurs. _

_This time, as we walk back, I bury my hand in his fur for a moment and neither one of them comment._

* * *

.

.

* * *

Two and a half days have passed while I dream of memories long buried away, some of which I had even forgotten of having. Lucy has been spending much of her time in my room, leaving only for meals and for walks through the castle and gardens. Susan joins her, as well, as they both read and play chess by the window.

"She no longer cries," the younger of the two says on the third afternoon of my being here.

"Then perhaps she is having pleasant dreams," Susan replies, and checkmates Lucy. Her sister pouts.

Peter visits as well, but he is busy and does not have as much time. Edmund makes a point to stop by and to warn his sisters of the danger I might pose once awake, to which they both thank him and shoo him out.

"Aslan said she was a friend of Narnia," Lucy whispers to Susan one evening. "I trust in His words."

Susan nods. Neither one of them sees my fingers twitch under the blankets at the name of my Father, or the slight curling at the corners of my lips.

* * *

.

.

* * *

_The tree dryads are wonderful singers. They sing odes to Narnia and to Aslan and to their Kings and Queens: past, present and future. They are the only outsiders that I have met so far, and I dance many nights away within their circles and songs._

_I have been alive for what must be only weeks. I can still sense Narnia almost as clear as the day I was created, and it feels both wonderful and overwhelming. The dryads are creatures born from soil and Narnia's heart, and they make the feelings lessen and the many voices in my head quiet their whispers._

_We sing and twirl on days on end. We do not require food or drink, and Akshay is the one to leave whenever the need arises, only to come back and stand guard over me. I am lost in a cacophony of melody and the sensation of being one with so many others._

"_The thundering waves are calling me home unto you/the pounding sea is calling me home unto you/On a dark new year's night, on the east coast of Cair/I heard your voice singing/Your eyes danced the song and your breath played the tune/T'was a tune before me/We left the music behind as the dance carried on/as we stole to the seashore/and smelt the brine and felt the wind in our hair..."_

_Every breath I take I can feel Narnia breathing within me, through me, and it makes me want to both run away and leap with joy._

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

_Akshay and I lie side by side, my ear pressed to the wet soil after the rain. It smells of green and of life down here, and stories are being whispered to me by a voice so deep and ancient that it is staggering – my breath catches sometimes, and I forget to inhale as I lose myself in it. Akshay pulls me out from this coma, nudging me whenever he notices my chest not moving, his golden brown eyes watching me with great curiosity._

_We do this for days. "What do you hear?" He asks once, snapping me out of the trance and I blink wildly at him for a few seconds, trying to catch my surroundings as my eyes zero in on his. It takes another moment for me to find my voice, and it is raspy and has echoes of a more giant, omnipresent one._

"_There's so much _life, _Shay," I whisper to him, rough and low with my words tumbling over each other. "It's her heart. The heart of all of Narnia. By the Emperor, she is so full of happiness. So full of love. I can feel it all, in me, just bursting to get out."_

_And then I laugh for what seems like hours until I curl up into myself with tears escaping my eyes, shaking, comforted by the Tiger's wet nose on my forehead, calming me until the feelings pass and I lie there, gasping for breath._

"_We are not meant to hear her," I say to him once I am done. I spring up, teetering on my feet as the world spins until he's suddenly there beside me, guiding me with my hands clutching onto him for dear life and we make our way to the river, where I dunk myself in and stay there until the cold numbs me so much that I can't even think._

_We leave for the world outside the woods the next sunrise._

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

_It's only been two days – was it two? I wasn't sure, I couldn't tell yet – since I stepped foot onto the mainland. I've walked among the woods and streams, running into no creatures but the birds high in the foliage and whispering trees. My limbs no longer feel heavy here in this air and I have gotten used to the smell of green and not lilies; I am clad in only a tunic and trousers (that's what He said they are called, at least) and my bare feet sink into the soil as I walk to nowhere._

_There is a new creature staring out at me from the underbrush now, however. He is large, orange, and bares a faint resemblance to my Father. His eyes are wide and golden brown, his tail moving side to side behind him. Narnia calls him a Tiger. _

_I have not been taught to be afraid yet, so I am not. I stare back at him boldly, head tilted to my side and mouth slightly open in wonder. He is the first one to speak._

"_What are you?" His voice is a low, deep baritone, but my Mother tells me he is not yet old. His question confuses me. What was I? I was myself. But what was myself?_

_I blink at him and try to find my voice. I have not spoken in a while, and my voice is raspy. "Well – I don't quite know, you see. Should I?" _

_The Tiger crouches lower, comes closer, sniffs me out. He frowns. "Are you a Daughter of Eve?"_

_I crease my brows together at the unfamiliar term. "Who is Eve? My Mother Creator is named Narnia. What is a Daughter of Eve?"_

_The Tiger now looks incredulous, and loses all of his suspicions and walks even closer to me. If I wanted to, I could have reached out and touched him. Perhaps Narnia is urging him on towards me, crooning soft words into his ear. "Why, a human, of course! Our Queen is one, a Daughter of Eve, and so have been her ancestors before her. You must have heard of them?"_

_The term 'human' reminds me of something, words my Father spoke to me before. "Oh! No, I am not a human. My Father told me that I came from His will and Narnia's light."_

"_Who is your father, child?" The Tiger asks, hesitant and confused. I falter, unsure, not knowing His name. My mouth opens and closes a few times as I try to think, my brows furrowing. _

"_I do not know His name," I finally admit, and this makes me incredibly sad. "But – He is great, and big, and so very old! He is kind and magnificent – He is the greatest lion that I shall ever meet!"_

_The Tiger's ears twitch and flatten at my words, but then perk back up as he takes in a surprised breath. "He is not – Aslan, is he?" His voice is quiet and the name he breathes suddenly brings an image of my Father to me, his fur shining gold and ancient eyes warm._

_I grin, overjoyed that I now know His name. "Yes, that's it! Do you know Him?"_

_The Tiger stays silent, wide eyes appraising me, before he seems to come to a decision and speaks again. "What is your name?" He asks, and I chew at my lower lip in thought._

"_I am called Amalea," I say after a moment. The name slips out of my mouth with ease and floats between us for a second. It sounds right._

_The Tiger nods and turns, beckoning for me to follow. "Come with me, Amalea."_

_I have never felt fear before, and even if I had, I would have followed this Talking Beast to anywhere he wanted. Narnia caresses him and loves him. She trusts him, and we walk._

"_What is your name?" I ask at one point in time._

"_I am called Akshay, young one." I grin and prance ahead of him, crouching down so that he has no choice but stop and stare at me in surprise as I come face to face with him._

"_Nice to meet you!" I say and throw my arms around his neck. He tenses underneath me but I am persistent, sitting there on my feet until suddenly he's laughing, the noise reverberating through his body and into me._

_Aslan is the one who teaches me of love, Narnia of life, but Akshay is the one who teaches me how to _live.

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

_At first there is nothing but air. It is warm and light, lighter than any other air around it. It is the breath of an Emperor, large and magnificent and shining gold. It is there for many days, although the sun does not set at The End of the World. There is no sun to speak of, only a beach, a wall of water, and a sea of flowers – the sun is farther away, and night faintly reaches the island, gray and lit up by stars._

_Then there comes a heartbeat._

_It starts off slow, and it grows steadier as the Lion cradling it nurtures it with love and patience. He is very patient, and the heartbeat becomes strong. It stays there, in that sphere of air, until a faint outline of a body appears. It is small between His paws but large, and it looks vaguely human. Two legs and two arms appear, and then the outline of a head._

_A nose is the next thing to appear. It breathes in slowly, taking in the scents around it. It smells the lilies, the Lion's breath, the sand and the brine of the sea. It is followed by a mouth that opens and tries to speak, but it cannot just yet. Instead it helps the nose breathe, taking deeper breathes as it reaches out to the sky and to that sun, to the darkness of night and to the stars._

_A pair of ears is next. They listen as the Lion speaks tales and prophecies, mindless words and those full of love and meaning. He speaks of a creature that He creates, and He calls her His Daughter. The mouth begins to smile and the heartbeat grows deeper, filling with His love. Narnia whispers to His Daughter too, teaching her of the history and the land, of the trees and the soil and the waters. She speaks of mountains and of giants, of a castle and of Talking Beasts._

_Time passes. A lot of it does, many days that no one counts. Details begin to appear, like colors on a canvas – sun-kissed skin and wild, golden hair; dark brows and cheekbones and jaw carved almost as if by the air of the island itself. The eyes are the last to appear, edged by full eyelashes, and they flutter against the skin there for a few seconds. When they open they are like gold, mirrors to the Lion's eyes, unfocused and full of omnipresence – they burn like fire, before the irises shrink and the eyelids blink._

_I gaze up into my Father's eyes and the sky beyond, and take in my first deep conscious gasp of Narnian air._

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

It has now been a week. The days stretch long and my coma has not subsided; it is like I do not need food or water to sustain myself, for I just sleep and breathe. Some have even begun to whisper that I will never wake. Servants that come to clean the room and to check up on Lucy and myself begin to refer to me as the sleeping human child; they begin to doubt their memories of Aslan's presence, and make extravagant tales of why I have not yet woken.

My dreams have ended, the story of my short life from the bitterest of memories to those of my birth. One still remains however, and I have to force it through the haze of my consciousness for I do not think Aslan wanted me to see it. But I am stubborn even when knocked out cold, and it comes in with blurred colors and merely voices and motions, struggling to make itself known.

It's the memory of the day I let myself be reborn, and it is the one I clutch on to when I begin to forget of how I died.

* * *

.

.

* * *

_I'm training somewhere, sword in hand, but I am not allowed to remember when this is. The words tell me that it must be the beginning of the war, but dreams – even when memories – like to mess with things._

_Shay is there watching me, and he speaks. "You have changed."_

"_Well, I have to, don't I?" There is a pause in my words and I have to strain to hear them, for they sound like they're coming from under the water. "This, Shay, was my destiny. Aslan created me for this purpose – I fight for Narnia."_

_The Tiger scoffs. "And what does she say about it?"_

_I am hesitant to answer. "She is worried for her children. But you have to understand that this is the only way now."_

"_By letting yourself lose who you are? Amalea, please reconsider this!"_

_I am angry now, and throw down the sword to stare at my friend. My voice is rising in pitch. "And what would you have me do, Akshay? Let the Witch just march in and overtake Narnia as she pleases? You've seen how easy it is for me to learn this art of warfare – my body was shaped and molded precisely for this reason. Narnia needs me Shay, and I will not abandon her in her time of need!"_

_There is absolute silence, and then Akshay turns and walks away. I am left staring at his retreating back in this silence – Narnia is completely quiet within me for the first time in my life, and it is the most heartbreaking feeling in the world._

_I bite my lower lip so hard that it begins to bleed and pick up my sword._

* * *

.

.

* * *

I open my eyes and blink slowly. My entire body feels heavy and it's a bit difficult to breathe; I turn my gaze downward from the bed canopy above and to the heavy blanket covering me. I shift a bit, wanting to get the stifling thing off of me, all the while trying to take in my surroundings – a window with heavy curtains, the large bed and several paintings that look slightly familiar. The entire room is done up in reds and oranges, just screaming _royalty _out at me.

The blanket finally slides off and I sit up, propping myself up on the pillows and wincing when my head and limbs begin protesting. "Son of a _bitch,_" I mutter to myself, blinking to clear the dancing spots away from my eyes. Something moves at my feet and I hold my breath, sliding my eyes over to it – a girl rests there, looking young enough to be maybe thirteen or fourteen, her reddish brown hair spread out around her and her face turned in my direction, calm as she sleeps. She's pillowing her head with her arms and I trail my glance further up, to the crown of silver sitting there.

She moves again before I can let out any more expletives in surprise, and I cast around for some sort of weapon to use before it hits me – she has a _crown_. She's also young, looks regal enough, and the room we're in looks faintly like Cair Paravel.

_Oh._

The girl opens here eyes blearily and yawns. I stare at her, unsure of what to do and stuck waiting for her to be the one to notice me.

And she does after a few moments. Her mouth opens and closes a few times as we just stare at each other, eyes wide, and I finally clear my throat.

"Hello," I say, and my voice comes out colder than it was meant to be. "Who are you?"

The girl blinks and then stands up. Her face is like an open book and I can see the honest curiosity and concern shining there. "I am Queen Lucy of Narnia," she says, her voice still etched with the traces of childhood. "You are currently at Cair Paravel." She hesitates, then steps closer. "You have been asleep for a very long time. How are you feeling?"

I clench my jaw at her words, raising my chin higher as I peer at her. She is fairly short, and even with me sitting upright she is taller than me. Something of my old self screams at me to show respect to a monarch of Narnia, but I am stubborn and I ignore it. The memories brought up by Aslan of Desdemona still burn inside of me, and they _hurt._

"How long?" I ask, and this time my voice is as frigid as I mean for it to be.

Her face crumbles just the tiniest bit, but her eyes don't look away from mine. Not as many back home had the will to face me head on when I was acting like this – spoiled, and cold and haughty – and I respect this child Queen for that. "It has been a week," she says, and my eyes widen.

"...I see," I trail off abruptly as something begins to nag inside of me, sudden and determined to be heard. A flash of Jadis' castle rises up, and of being led away by the Minotaur, and of – of – someone being led the other way –

I throw off the covers and spring to my feet, teetering when everything spins and grabbing onto the bedpost to regain my balance. Queen Lucy cries out in surprise and steps towards me again, for my face must be pale and full of panic and she seems like a brave girl, but I breathe out the only word that matters right now –

"Akshay."


	5. Of A Girl and Her Tiger

Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and all its characters belong to C.S Lewis; various characters here belong to me.

* * *

**5**

Of A Girl and Her Tiger

* * *

"_Shut your eyes and think of somewhere  
somewhere cold and caked in snow."_

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

The child Queen in front of me looks beyond confused at my sudden actions, but I'm already making my way towards the door leading outside as steadily as I can. "I have somewhere I need to be," I insist to her, struggling against this sudden pounding inside of me screaming out Akshay's name. The girl jumps out in front of the door, however, before I can exit and I falter – perhaps the windows are a better idea?

"Wait!" The Queen calls out, her cheeks flushed just the tiniest bit as she attempts to stare me down. I stand fairly tall at 5'6 and she hasn't hit her growth spurt yet, or else this would have worked much better. "Who are you? Where do you need to be?" She rises up, her voice taking on a note of authority. "You are at Cair Paravel and as a Queen of Narnia, I ask you to please calm yourself!" Her face has gotten redder, almost as if she's embarrassed by her title and I take this and file it away for future reference automatically.

It takes a few seconds but the nagging inside of me finally lets up a bit. I fall into a small, stiff curtsy and focus my eyes on the carpet as I attempt to do as she asks. "My apologies, Your Majesty." The title I once called Desdemona by tastes bitter in my mouth, and I curse the Lion half heartedly for making me relive all of those memories of love and loss. "I am Lea. Thank you for your hospitality, but there is somewhere I must go to with the utmost of urgency." This formal sort of speech is something that I had worked hard at to keep while in New York, and back here in Narnia, it slips out as light as air.

I make another attempt for the door, hoping that the girl will move and trust my words at face value – she stands still in front of it, observing me. My eyes shoot to the windows on the other side of the room.

The Queen notices this. "We are some floors up and it would not end well if you decide to jump."

"Wouldn't be the first time I had to scale walls," I mutter in response. _These walls, in fact, _I continue on to myself.

"There is also the matter that Aslan Himself brought you here." I fall silent, considering this fact. _What a way to make a grand entrance_, _Amalea_.

"So I suppose He did." I clear my throat, trying to break the tension floating in the air. My stomach abruptly does it for me as it chooses this time to remind us both that I haven't eaten in a week or so. How I'm still standing and not kneeling over dead is not something I want to think about, so I just attribute it to Aslan and look down at my body with dismay.

Queen Lucy giggles from in front of me. "It comes as no surprise. You have been asleep for quite some time, after all." She looks at me, amusement dancing in her eyes. "If I take you to the kitchens, do you promise not to run?"

I sigh slightly, realizing that I am, in fact, starving. "Wouldn't think of it, Your Majesty," I reply wryly. Queen Lucy raises a brow and I shrug. "There is nowhere to run, anyway."

She nods and moves aside, all cheery again. "Indeed. The guard outside has already most likely alerted my siblings of your awakening as well." She pauses and looks over at me. "My sister has left several dresses for you if you wish to change, by the way."

I glance down at my summer attire and realize that I am severely underdressed by their standards. "Oh," I say flatly. "Thank you." The dresses lie on a pile on one of the chairs by the bed and I shift through them before choosing the simplest one, a cream coloured gown with faint golden stitching. Some of them don't even look like they're fit for day-to-day wear and I refrain from shaking my head. _Narnia. Women._

I keep my shoes on and swish the skirt around, watching in satisfaction when it nearly covers them. The auburn haired girl clasps her hands happily from where she's still half standing guard by the door, and looks me appraisingly up and down. "Great! The clothes you had on before were rather... odd."

I just stare back at her, then at my shorts lying on the bed. I wasn't a stranger to dresses by any means, but Narnian clothes were rather modest and somewhat of a pain in hotter weather. I consider for a moment the looks I would receive if I change back into 21st century clothes and decide that it's certainly not something I want to be wearing when talking with persons of royalty.

We leave my room without another word and head through familiar stone and marble walkways – servants pause and stare at us both as we pass, and I keep my head up and walk as tall as I can despite the wild beating of my heart. The castle seems to smell different, even with my reduced senses and I try to catch as many glimpses of it from the corners of my eyes. We pass by a staircase that I know once lead up to Desdemona's and mine personal chambers, and I wonder briefly if the key we locked them with before we left was ever found.

I also take this time to observe the young Queen by my side. It would be an insult to call her 'little' – she walks as I do, chin up and shoulders squared back. Unlike myself though, her face is graced with a smile as she greets various Talking Animals and fauns we run into. Her head comes up to my chin and the silver of the crown catches in the light, the tiny details of leaves woven into there shining back at me. The young girl will grow up to be a beautiful Queen, I can see even now, and try not to smile with pride at one of Narnia's chosen rulers – several feelings rage on inside of me, from happiness at being back at Cair Paravel to selfish anger that Narnia has a new Queen.

_Well, _I think,_ at least I realize that I'm being selfish. That counts for something, right?_

_Desdemona wouldn't have wanted you to hate them, _a voice answers back quietly from somewhere in the back of my mind. _She would have wanted you to treat them as you treated her once._

_Desdemona is dead, _I reply back viciously, not caring if the words are just a figment of my imagination. There's no response, but I hadn't really expected one.

"If I may ask, Your Majesty, what year is this?"

Queen Lucy looks startled at my sudden decision to break the silence between us, but answers at me with just the tiniest hint of disbelief in her eyes. "It's the year 1002 of the Lion." She bites her lip and peers closer at me, furrowing her brows. "Are you not from around here?"

I glance away from her, uncomfortable at the way her blue eyes look at me. There's something almost magical about her, and I briefly wonder what title Aslan had given to her at her coronation. Desdemona had been Queen Desdemona the Steadfast, dubbed for her loyalty and her strength after the death of her father.

_She was a good Queen. She would have liked Queen Lucy. _

"More or less," I answer once realizing that the girl is still waiting for my answer.

"I see," she says, curious, and we turn into the kitchens.

I had expected them to look different, but they don't – not at all. The room is full of sunlight and chattering which comes to a stop as we enter. The Head Cook – a warm looking faun – ushers us to at the long table in the center, bustling about as the others slowly return to their previous work and conversation. I feel more than a few curious stares directed at me and sit still, focused on the woodwork of the table and the Queen on the other side of it.

When a bowl of broth is set down in front of me, I try to scarf it down as politely as possible while Queen Lucy watches on with interest.

"Lea," she asks after a moment. "How old are you?"

"I'm nearly seventeen."

"Where is that you come from?"

I pause for a moment. "Very far, Your Majesty. I doubt that you would have heard of it."

Her lips quirk up at the corners at my answer. "Try me."

I hesitate again before deciding, _what the hell_. "New York. America."

To my surprise the girl falls silent and her mouth tugs down in a frown, like she's considering it. "It sounds rather familiar," she admits after a few seconds and I nearly choke on my food in shock. "Perhaps my siblings know more about it."

I stare at her, wide eyed and all the usual traces of my calm gone. "He had _not _mentioned that," I mutter to myself, referring to Aslan. I examine the Queen once more, and feeling bold, speak up. "Your Majesty, may I ask you a question?" She nods in response and I plow on. "How old are you?"

She grins, leaning forward on her elbows to rest her chin between her hands. "I was wondering when you would ask that," she admits, and when I stay silent, continues on. "I am the youngest Queen that Narnia has ever had. Many are very surprised at my age, Lea. I will be turning fourteen this year."

Desdemona had taken the crown when she was barely sixteen – to be a Queen this young, especially one of four; Aslan must have considered her very worthy of it. "You mention your siblings. I was not aware that Narnia had several monarchs."

Queen Lucy looks surprised once more; with how close she is to me now I notice that her eyes have flecks of gold and green in them. They're wide and not exactly naive, but there's a sort of innocence in them that I haven't seen in a long time. My days from Narnia have left me with a natural ability to observe people after I was reborn – beyond that innocence there's understanding, however, of something I don't quite know yet. And there is strength.

An odd feeling creeps down my back, reminding me of nights when Narnia would whisper her secrets in my ear. _Perhaps this is why He chose her as a Queen, _I decide. _She makes one think of Narnia._

"You must be very far from here indeed, to not know this. My siblings and I came to the throne two years ago." I stare at her blankly until she gets the hint and elaborates. "...After the defeat of the White Witch."

This does a splendid job of shifting my focus away from my food and to Queen Lucy. "I see. Was it you who finally killed her?"

She shakes her head. "No. Aslan did." We both don't say anything again I play with my spoon, swirling it around in the soup. When Queen Lucy speaks again, her voice is quiet. "There was a battle between the Narnians who followed Aslan's banner, and those who followed her. We came victorious in the end, as you can see."

Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes and I have a brief vision of an army that once followed the me of a different life, their bodies lying scattered on the battlefield. I return the smile with much more satisfaction, smiling so wide that I must look a bit like a loon. "I am glad to hear that she is dead." Except at the same time she is not, because she is Jadis. She _is_ magic. The thought sobers me up and I take another spoonful of my meal.

"You know of her?" Queen Lucy asks, taken aback – she must think it odd that while I can relate to the story of Jadis' defeat, I know nothing of those who defeated her.

I nod. "Yes. Who she was and what she did is very—" I search for the right word. _Cruel. Painful. Memorable. _"—unforgettable."

The girl bites her lower lip in thought. "Yes, she is."

I finish with my food and thank the faun, who I can see is eager to talk to me herself to get the answers most of the castle's inhabitants seem to want. It's a pity, because I plan to avoid that certain story for as long as possible.

"I am sure that you have many questions for my siblings and I, as we do for you." I hesitate for a second at Queen Lucy's question, and then nod. She continues – "You are asked to attend dinner with us tonight, then."

My whole body tenses at the words and the beating that has been a mere hum inside of me increases so much that I have to hold in my surprised gasp. Jadis' castle flashes in my mind's eye and so do Akshay's eyes. "I thank you, Your Majesty, but there is still somewhere I must be off too," I force out through the urge to _get up, run, run run run run there is someone waiting for you. Get up Amalea, get up. _

Queen Lucy smiles, but it's a guilty smile. The beating inside of me feels like it's churning, then comes to a stop. "It is not a request, I'm afraid. My brothers will be most curious about who you are... and if you pose any threat to Narnia."

I narrow my eyes. _This is ridiculous. This is _me _that we are talking about. _

And then I realize that they don't know who I am. They most likely don't even know who Amalea _was _– if they do then she's just a fairytale, something out of a bedtime story. As much as it pains me to admit it, these Kings seem to be at least smart. To a certain degree.

"Am I a prisoner, then?" I ask, genuinely interested in hearing the answer.

The girl's eyes widen and she shakes her head like the idea is absurd. "No, no; I merely advise that you don't try to leave the castle grounds until then."

I almost grin at her answer. "You are a very smart girl," I say before realizing who I'm still talking to. I try to backtrack, managing to look at least slightly mortified. "My apologies, Your Majesty. It's been a while since I've had to censor my speech."

To my surprise, she laughs. "Thank you for the compliment, Lea," she says, smiling in a way that makes her eyes shine. A brief pang hits my heart and I realize that she, Desdemona and I would have gotten on very well. _Desdemona is where your loyalties lie, _a voice hisses, and another one counters – _Narnia is where your loyalties lie._

_Shut up, _I order all the parts of my consciousness suddenly deciding to act up. _Just shut up._

"You may refer to me as Queen Lucy if you wish," the girl continues, oblivious to my internal struggle. "You are not a prisoner at Cair Paravel, but you were brought here under the most unusual circumstances."

I can't help the big sigh that escapes me. "I bet. How long is it until the dinner?"

"Dinner will be served in an hour, miss," a passing by Badger says. I offer a small smile to her.

"Thank you. Will I be accompanied by someone, or am I free to roam as I please?"

I almost jump out of my seat when – perhaps by some sort of signal – two Cheetahs step out from the shadows, their gazes focused both on me and their Queen. They pad silently up to us and I unclench one of my hands from where it's lying on the table, annoyed at myself for not having noticed them earlier. _What do you expect,_ _you're only human now. You said so to Aslan yourself. _The bitter thought passes quickly through my mind and I try to relax, grudgingly happy that the Cheetah Guard is still present at the castle.

"A Cheetah Guard will be with you," Queen Lucy says, confirming my suspicions. Bala was one when she served Desdemona personally, and their force was one of the most loyal and trustworthy in the kingdom. "However you are free to go wherever you wish. Unless it's locked, of course." There's a small smirk on her face that I hadn't thought her to be capable of but it smoothes out when one of the Cheetahs steps forward. "Argus will be there to look after you." The Talking Beast nods at me in greeting; his coat is darker than his companion's, and his form is slightly leaner and bigger.

Queen Lucy smiles down at the female. "This is Gwyn. She is my personal guard and also a very dear friend."

I tilt my head to them politely. "Pleased to meet you." Once I look up I notice the Queen's eyes are on me once more, and almost smirk at how often this has happened between us in such a short amount of time.

"You do not seem surprised at the sight of the fauns and Talking Animals we have run into so far," she comments."Have you been to Narnia before?"

No use lying in here. "Yes, a very long time ago."

Her eyebrows draw together at my answer. "Before the Great Winter?"

No use lying in here, either. "Yes."

The girl's eyes widen. "I see..."

Deciding that it's time to end this conversation before Queen Lucy gets any more ideas, I stand up and offer her a tight smile. "I'm sure you have duties to attend to, Queen Lucy. I will not keep you any longer."

She snaps out of her thoughts at my words and smiles back. "Yes. You'll hear the dinner bell sound wherever you are on castle grounds once it is time."

My smile shrinks by the tiniest bit. "I am looking forward to it."

* * *

.

.

* * *

My feet take me wherever they want and I try not to make it too obvious that I know my way around the castle. My memory is surprisingly clear after almost seventeen years of being away and I long to go into the wing where Desdemona and I had resided.

We do pass by the stairs, though. There are no sounds of servants from the top of it and a fine layer of dust coats the stone steps; I pause in front of them, curious. "What's up there?" _And why is nobody looking after it?_

Argus stops with me, gazing up to where a lone torch flickers in the darkness. "This is where the previous Queen of Narnia lived, before the Great Winter. The rooms that belonged to her and her guardian have been locked before they fled the castle, and no one has had access to them ever since."

I raise my eyebrows at his words. "There's no key?"

The Cheetah shrugs. "If there is one, no one knows where it is. Besides," he gives me the trademark cat-like grin, all fangs and mischief. "No one dares to go up there - they say that the rooms are haunted."

"Haunted," I repeat blankly after him. "You think that the place is _haunted_."

"Servants used to report of hearing whispers coming from upstairs late at night. Eventually so many grew frightened of the ghost stories that Queen Susan ordered for the place to be left alone." I stare up the stairs to where I spent so much of my time, my mind flashing to the missing key buried somewhere only I know.

"And what did the whispers say?" I ask after a moment, turning away to continue down the hall and to the gardens.

Argus trails after me with a chuckle. "Tell me, Lady Lea, do you really believe in such frivolous stories?" I glance down at him, my eyes sceptical. He shrugs again. "Ah, they were too quiet for anyone to actually make out. But the rumours say it's a woman whose ghost is up there, and if you listen really quietly, you can hear two words."

"...Words?" I ask. Argus nods and walks on ahead, assuming the role of the tour guide once again.

"Yes. _Little lioness." _He shakes his head in amusement. "Odd words for a ghost to say, don't you think?"

A squeaking sound escapes my throat, so quiet that anyone other than a cat wouldn't have heard it. "...Indeed." The Cheetah glances back and I try to smile while forcing color into my suddenly too-pale face.

"Sorry. Tripped over the hem of my dress. Troublesome, silly thing."

* * *

.

.

* * *

We reach the gardens after five more minutes of walking. _My gardens_, I think as I just stop and stare out at them – they are almost the exact same as the ones from my memories, large and green and blooming with so many flowers that one can get lost in their scent. Argus and I stand under the stone arch of the castle while I fight back tears. He is the first one to speak.

"Your feet seem to know the castle pretty well."

I rub one of my eyes under the guise of brushing back my bangs. "It's a beautiful structure."

He glances up at me from the corner of his eyes. "Yes, it is."

Evidently waiting for me to pick the course, I step forward onto the lush grass and begin walking a route familiar to me. Back when Desdemona and I would visit these every day, there would be imprints of our feet on the dirt visible underneath – after a hundred or so years of being frozen, there is nothing there. Not even a hint of the past, like it's all been swept away.

We reach a large oak tree after several minutes. A stone bench sits under it, vines curled around its feet and up the back. I stop and just stare at it, biting at my lower lip.

"You smell of remorse and anxiety," Argus' voice abruptly comes from behind me and I turn, raising one eyebrow at him.

"Good nose you have there," I comment, impressed, and walk forward to sit down on the bench. The stone is warm from the sun and I lean back into it, closing my eyes to bask in the sunlight.

"You seem very relaxed in my presence," the Cheetah continues as he sits down at the foot of the bench. I stay silent and let him go on with his observations. "Even the humans that come visit us beyond our borders sometimes have problems being comfortable around us."

I raise and lower one shoulder, reluctant to open my eyes again. "Their loss. Although I do pity them, having to go back to such boring homelands."

I can almost see his ears twitching as he takes in this new information – Akshay was much the same way, and Bala was too. Most of the cat species had predictable mannerisms, much as humans also do. "You are not from any of them?" He asks sharply.

I shake my head. "I come from a place much farther than any one of those charted on your maps." Practically feeling his suspicious stare on me, I sit up and laugh. "Tell me, Honourable Cheetah – I am curious. Do I smell like a traitor to your country?"

Argus falters at the formal way I address him and at the knowing smile stretching on my face. "No." He hesitates again. "You smell like... the Lion."

I wasn't expecting that answer and fall quiet in thought. "I suppose I do. Who knows for how many hours He carried me..."

I notice the Cheetah's tail flick over the grass at my words. "You mentioned in the kitchens that there is somewhere you must go to. You seemed to be very insistent about it."

I stare at him, uncertain at how to go on. "You remind me of someone," I finally say, drawing out the words as I examine the Talking Beast before me. He stares back and I come to a decision. "Very well. I am looking for a very dear friend of mine – the most important one, in fact. It is my belief that I will find him if I travel northwest of here."

"Northwest..." Argus considers this. "To the mountains?"

I nod. "Yes. But I must hurry. I already feel as if I am very late..." _Akshay, _the nudging voice inside of me whispers. _Run, Amalea. This is a very important date and you can't be late for it._

Argus speaks again before I can grow more irritated at the teasing reference to Lewis Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland. _"You are aware of the fact that I must report everything that you say to Their Majesties, of course."

I furrow my brow at this. "I would be both surprised and disappointed in you if you didn't."

The Cheetah opens his mouth and laughs. "I see." His eyes dance around the clearing we are sitting in, alert. "You wish to stay here until we are called?"

I nod, letting a small smile of content escape me. "Yes. It is a most beautiful place."

Argus, sensing that I wish for the conversation to drop, allows it to trail off and settles himself more comfortably down on the ground.

_I'm coming for you, Shay._

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

Queen Lucy is waiting for us outside the Dinner Hall when we approach. "Your Majesty," I greet the girl, who smiles back at me.

"Lea. I trust that your walk went well." My eyes shift to Gwyn at her Queen's feet and how she's watching me – closely and suspiciously, like I'm about to pull out a dagger from the sleeves of my gown. _You can't fit anything into here. Believe me, I've tried._

"Yes, it did. Argus was a most interesting tour guide."

The Cheetah beside me chuckles. "You are embarrassing me, Lady Lea."

Queen Lucy looks between us, trying to gauge the familiarity before looking up at me again. "Are you ready to go in?"

I nod, squaring my shoulders, and walk through the doors the young Queen opens – the room is panelled in dark wood and heavy gold curtains. A long table sits at the center under the high ceiling, also crafted finely and the three other monarchs of Narnia sit at the center of it. Both of the Kings rise as we enter.

"Lucy!" Greets the taller, golden haired one with a large smile – the crown on his head is made of gold and I realize that he must be oldest of the four. He turns to me as we approach and I fall into a curtsy. "And you must be Lea. It is good to see you finally awake."

I nod stiffly at him as Queen Lucy and I sit down on the other side of the table. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The young woman with dark hair and a pretty face across from me smiles in greeting. "We had started to worry when the week-mark passed. But you seem completely fine now."

I clear my throat, trying to be as polite as I can – the cold mask I've been using for the larger part of my life had dropped down the slightest bit when I was in the garden with Argus, and it takes only a second to get it back up again. "I'm sorry for worrying you, Your Majesty."

"Oh!" The table turns to Queen Lucy as she gasps, turning to look at me. "I'm not sure if you quite know who we are... My brothers, the High King Peter and King Edmund. My sister, Queen Susan."

The three nod at their respective names and I try to curl my lips into a smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

The siblings engage in pleasant chatter as the food is served. I stay silent and keep my gaze down, pretending not to notice the glances they send me every few minutes. I look up to thank the Beaver who hands me my plate and catch the narrowed eyes of the dark haired King – Edmund? – staring at me.

"You are not from Narnia, then?" He says, bringing the conversation at the table to a halt. I find all eyes on me and try not to show my amusement at their attention on my face. Akshay's face and the voice – _Aslan?_ – rise up inside of me once more, murmuring, and I push them aside.

"No, Your Majesty."

"Yet the way you speak and hold yourself suggest that you are familiar with this country, as well as being in the presence of monarchy," the King Edmund continues on boldly, his voice cold, and I am surprised at his blunt observation – my eyes widen a bit as I stare at him, fingers frozen over my fork.

"_Edmund!" _Lucy hisses at her brother from beside me and I hear the faint thud of her kicking his shin. He ignores her, choosing to stare me down instead.

"That's... a very impressive observation," I say out loud without meaning to. "But the way I hold myself? What is it that you mean?"

King Edmund raises one dark eyebrow at me – everything about him is dark. His hair, his eyes, his clothes; he looks young still, younger than me but perhaps older than Queen Lucy. I can see the faint traces of childhood on his face but the way he's looking at me is a look fit for a soldier instead. "You are tense, even now, but from what I've heard you do not seem to be taken aback at anything that you have seen here so far. Except us, of course." The entire table is silent as we stare at each other; I can feel my eyes beginning to narrow at the way this _boy _is speaking to me.

_Amalea, _what I'm pretty sure is Aslan's voice inside of me chides and I snap back into awareness.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have never before heard of a monarchy with four simultaneous rulers before."

He ignores my words. "And there's that, the way you speak when addressing us - it seems almost forced, and while not disrespectful, one cannot help but feel as if you consider us..." He pauses, trying to find the right word before smiling grimly. "_Inadequate."_

I clench my fingers around my spoon, annoyed that this _little boy _with what seems to be an ego the size of Russia is attempting to figure me out without even having known me for ten minutes. "I have a problem with authority," I reply to him, my voice dropping in warmth. "Your Majesty."

High King Peter chuckles with amusement before his brother can reply, but I notice the way his eyes are solely focused on me – analyzing me. "You must excuse my brother, Lady Lea – I'm afraid that he is still learning the art of subtlety." I hold back my snort of disbelief;that was an understatement of the century. "Now," the High King continues, "My good sister tells me that you come from very far away from here?"

I turn my attention away from the younger of the two Kings before I get into a competition of egos with him; I wasn't known as the Ice Queen back home for nothing. "Yes I do, Your Majesty. I live in a city called New York, from a country called America." The four are silent until Queen Susan gasps.

"But – that's –" she pauses, frowning. "Well – it's Earth, isn't it?" King Edmund shoots her an amused look and she glares at him. "From the other side of the wardrobe, I mean."

I stare at them for a second, trying to figure out what they're talking about before realization hits me like a freight train and my eyes widen. "You do have an accent," I comment, leaning back in my chair a bit. "I thought it was only my imagination, but you sound... English."

Queen Lucy glances up at me, her mouth in a small 'o' of surprise. "You know of England?" She asks, her voice breathless.

I nod, overcome with shock. "Well... yes. I've been there a few times myself, quite a lovely country." The Kings and Queens of Narnia stare at me and I stare back at them. _Thank you for leaving out that little fact, Aslan, _I think, irritated.

"So how did you get into Narnia, then?" Queen Susan asks.

"I asked a rabbit and he gave me directions," I answer with the truth, then catch myself. "Your Majesty."

High King Peter blinks at me a few times. "You asked... a rabbit?"

I glance down, mildly embarrassed. "Well, yes. I didn't know he was a Talking Rabbit."

"He talked back, didn't he?" King Edmund comments wryly, and I shoot him a small glare.

"I thought it to be my imagination. New York doesn't exactly have Talking Animals at every corner."

Queen Lucy interrupts us before we can begin staring each other down again. "And then you met Aslan?"

I nod again. "Yes, I did. And I suppose that He brought me here..." I trail off, suddenly remembering of what we talked about at the End of the World. "He said there was a reason why I was—" I almost say _back_, but change it at the last second. "—here. He called them 'shadows'. Of the war and of Jadis."

The mood between us shifts abruptly and the younger King's eyes narrow even further at me. "Jadis is dead," he says coldly and I grind my teeth, annoyed.

"Jadis is a part of Narnia, Your Majesty," I snap at him. "She was amongst the first few to step foot into this land when it was just darkness – darkness of a void and Aslan."

"You speak of our country as if you know it," High King Peter observes quietly. _Her, _I correct inside my head. _Narnia is conscious, and she is joy and she is hate and everything else imaginable. _Their blatant ignorance of the very land they're standing on angers me somewhere deep inside, and all of a sudden the separation hurts all over again.

I take in a deep breath, trying to steady the pounding of my heart. "I was here once before, for the war that Jadis raged on Narnia." I stab a piece of pork on my plate with the fork. "It was a horrible time." They stay silent like they are expecting me to go on, but I refuse to go into further detail and keep my mouth shut.

Queen Susan is the one to speak up while they take this in. "And you went back? Before the Winter?"

"Yes. Aslan took me back to Earth." They look uncomfortable at my answer and I wonder briefly if He will ever come for them the same way He did for me.

I finally can't take any more of the nagging inside of me and burst. "Your Majesties, there is someone very important to me that I must find. I do not know whether he is still alive or not, but please, I beg of you – lend me a horse to head northwest and see for myself."

The siblings exchange looks before the eldest speaks. "There is nothing there but Ettinsmoor and..." he trails off in realization.

His brother finishes for him, staring at me. "Jadis' Castle."

I try not to shift uncomfortably in the atmosphere that descends and open my mouth; my voice comes out fierce, almost wild like before. "The Witch's Castle is where I had last seen him. If there is any hope that he is still alive – even petrified – then I will follow this feeling nagging at my thoughts until I see what has happened to him with my own eyes."

"And he is very important to you?" Queen Lucy speaks up almost silently beside me. I glance at her and nod, narrowing my eyes.

"I would give my life for his at my own free will at any day."

"Aslan had freed all those turned to stone before Jadis fell," her sister says gently, like I am some child needing to be reassured. "Lucy and I were there, Lea. If your friend had been one of those statues in the castle, then there is a chance that he is somewhere here in Narnia."

The feeling inside of me begins to turn into panic, urging me to get a move on – I bite the inside of my cheek to focus before shaking my head. "You don't _understand_, Your Majesty. There is something very important inside of me telling me to go seek him out, even if the Witch's castle lies in ruins. Even if he is dead, I must go there and see the remains for myself."

The four glance amongst each other once again; I am clutching at the edge of the table with my other hand so hard that my knuckles have turned white. "Very well," High King Peter agrees after a moment and I don't bother holding back the great sigh of relief that escapes me. "We will lend you a horse, and you will be accompanied by some of our guard." He pauses briefly. "You must understand that even if you were brought here by Aslan Himself, a request to head to Jadis' Castle..."

He trails off and I shake my head in agreement. "I understand perfectly. Thank you, Your Majesty. When can I ride out?"

Queen Susan frowns and taps her fingers against the wooden table. "We will need to arrange a convoy for you, but this late in the evening—"

"I will accompany her," King Edmund interrupts his sister and all of us turn to look at him in surprise. He glances at his siblings before turning to me. "I will take Argus with us as well." The Cheetah Guard glances up from where is lying in the shadows of the room before heading over to the King, murmuring a "Your Majesty" as he does so. The boy smiles at me, but it is not a nice smile by any means. "I am sure that we will be more than enough if something were to happen."

I set my jaw at the insult and his near non-existent belief in me; it takes all that I have not to retaliate with cruel words directed at him and force out a smile instead. "Thank you Your Majesty, Argus." I turn to the High King, glad to be done with the boy-King for the time being. "Will we be able to ride tonight?"

The young man shakes his head and offers me a regretful smile. "It's a three day journey, and it's best not to start at nightfall." My face falls but I grudgingly nod in agreement. "We will have the cooks prepare provisions for you, as well as the stable hands ready your horses."

"You've also been asleep for a long time, Lea. Are you sure that you're okay enough to ride...?" Queen Lucy voices her concerns and I grimace in response.

"Believe me, Queen Lucy, sleep is the last thing that I am interested in doing right now. I feel perfectly fine."

There comes the scrape of a chair as King Edmund rises up, straightening his tunic as he does so. "Then if you will excuse me, I will take my leave and prepare for tomorrow." He inclines his head towards me just the tiniest bit, his face blank. "Lady Lea, we will ride out come dawn. Please make sure that you are prepared."

"I will be." A muscle in my jaw begins to tick and I force myself to relax. "Your Majesty."

High King Peter leaves soon after and the Queens and I work at finishing our dinner. I catch the brunette Queen staring at me with speculating eyes a few times and tilt my head at her. "What is it, Your Majesty?"

"Out of curiosity, who is that you are looking for?" She asks.

I smile slightly at the question despite myself. "A Tiger. He had been my companion during the time I spent here, and I have grown very fond of him."

We finish our meal after a while and Queen Lucy offers to lead me back to the room I was staying at. "We will have someone prepare all the necessities for you come morning," she mentions as we walk and I thank her.

"Will I be accompanied by Argus during my time here at the castle if I am to stay for any longer?" I ask once we reach the doors, turning to look at the shorter girl.

"For the time being, yes," she says, confirming my suspicions and crushing my hopes of digging up the lost key to my old room. "I hope you don't mind."

I shake my head because other than that, I enjoyed his company very much. "Not at all." I pause, wondering whether I should tell her of this or not. "There was a wonderful Guard here – a hundred years ago. Argus reminds me of her, actually."

The Queen and I part for the night and when my head hits the pillow, I find that sleep comes easily to me; I sleep through the night without worry, surrounded by the scents of Narnia and of a spice that is no longer present in the room but only in my memories, buried and locked away somewhere deep within me.

And during the night in another part of the castle, abandoned and left in total darkness, there comes a voice.

"_Little lioness," _it croons to the wind and is swept away soon after.


	6. The False Witch

Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and all its characters belong to C.S Lewis; various characters here belong to me.

* * *

**6**

The False Witch

* * *

"_Love of mine, one day you will die  
and I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark."_

* * *

_._

_._

* * *

We set out for Jadis' Castle as the sun rises overhead Cair Paravel, casting a brilliant light over the Eastern Sea. The High King Peter, Queen Lucy and Queen Susan bid us goodbye and hand us the provisions promised the night before; I watch with barely veiled amusement as the two sisters kiss their youngest brother goodbye, grudgingly impressed that he is not like other boys I have met in my life. He does not shy away from their affections, instead accepting them gladly and kissing them both on their cheeks. Argus sits at the feet of my mare as we wait for the siblings to bid their goodbyes – I wonder to myself why it is taking them so long, why the High King lays a hand on his brother's shoulder in comfort, why the sisters watch him with eyes that barely hide their concern.

"They are worried," I say quietly to the Cheetah, after a moment of observation. "They hide it well, but nevertheless, it is there. Does the castle of the White Witch hold danger to us, even after several years?"

One of his ears twitches in the direction of my voice. "Do not concern yourself with anything, Miss Lea. Our scouts report regularly to Their Majesties of any activity that may be happening up north, and there are few living here that would dare visit the castle on their own free will."

My horse shifts with impatience beneath me, and I stifle the urge to do the same. "I bet," I mutter, recalling the journey there and my brief stay in the frosty dungeons. The silhouettes of Narnians frozen into the blue walls still haunt me in my sleep to this day.

The siblings let us go at last and we set off at a brisk trot out of the castle, Argus easily keeping up pace with us as he leaves to scout ahead, occasionally coming back to make sure that I do not pose a threat to his King. King Edmund spares me few glances and we are left to ride in silence – neither one of us is interested in getting to know the other, and the tension between us settles like a heavy blanket. I am glad for the boy's lack of socializing skills – which I do not doubt he has, honestly, being a King. I never enjoyed the attentions of the boys back in New York, the few times they happened; my reputation of being frigid preceded me and no one bothered to make me a challenge after the first few attempts failed.

I almost smile at the memories the train of thought brings, remembering long afternoons spent with Camille in the muggy city, but am quickly distracted by the sight of Argus reappearing up ahead. Seeing him from a distance triggers a rush of memories from a time long ago – his personality is uncannily alike to that of Bala's, and a pang of hurt runs through me at her image burned into my mind. I am tempted to squint until my vision blurs and my eyes burn, replacing Argus with the image of my long lost friend, but I have learned years ago that running from reality is never a good idea.

_Shay_, the voice inside of me murmurs, belonging to a soldier sixteen years dead. I close my eyes, letting the mare follow after the King's horse, and pray to Aslan with all that I have, perhaps for the first time in what seems to be forever (seven years, since I gave up on Narnia, on _Aslan_) that I am not being led on a wild goose chase, following after a ghost haunting the place of nightmares.

I let myself drift into a meadow full of sunshine and Akshay's growl, Bala's sharp voice and Desdemona's laugh – I linger there for a moment, on the edges of a daydream, before wrenching myself away.

"Aslan," I murmur my Father's name, clutching at the reins, and push the memories as far back in my mind as possible.

* * *

.

.

* * *

It takes us just under three days to arrive at what was once the domain of the Witch, the sun beginning to set to the west. I am flummoxed at the sight of the castle, still intact, even after all this time, and the empty courtyard stretching out before us. The walls have begun to melt, no longer held up by Jadis' magic, but the cursed building still stands. It glints under the fading light.

I drop off my horse slowly and move through the courtyard as if in a dream, caught between what I remember and what I see – two such contrasting sights, warring for dominance over my present, before beginning to walk faster and eventually breaking into a run as something from inside of me, and inside of the castle, grabs hold of my body and _pulls_. Argus runs with me, and I hear King Edmund give a startled yell behind us as he dismounts and follows.

I follow this feeling deeper into the castle, through half destroyed hallways before moving past the throne room and into what must have been Jadis' chambers. I stop short at the sight, out of breath and my face flushed, staring at the figure of a tiger frozen in the corner of the room. His jaw is bared and his tail is flicked to the side, one paw half raised and claws out – perhaps Jadis intended to keep him as a souvenir of her final defeat over Desdemona, over myself. Over Narnia.

A sort of inhuman sound comes from somewhere in the room and it takes me a second to realize that I am the source – something between a wail, a moan and a sigh escapes from me and I walk towards the immobile form of my friend, my body beginning to tremble from head to toe. I register the sound of the King's footsteps arriving at the door behind me, slightly out of breath, and Argus watching from the entrance.

"Lady Lea," he calls out, cautious, hesitant, but falls silent as I ignore him.

"Lea," the Boy King drops the title in addressing me and steps forward, his voice just a margin softer than any previous time he's spoken to me before. "We have no way of freeing him…"

I let him trail off and focus all my attention on the Tiger – "Akshay," I murmur, placing one hand softly between his ears. I let it linger there in the absolute silence that falls, before rubbing his head in a motion so familiar to me, running my fingers down his neck.

"My beloved friend, awaken for me," I pause, feeling the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes, and fall to my knees before my friend. Quieter, I choke out, "I beg of you."

There is nothing but silence in the room, and then all of sudden the ice begins to turn translucent as it melts under my touch – it starts where I first touched his head and then spreads until I find myself face to face with Akshay as he wavers on his feet slightly, breathing in, his tail drooping as he blinks. I stare at his face and see the awareness seeping into his eyes, my own breath caught somewhere between my ribcage and my throat as we face each other.

"Akshay," I breathe out, transfixed before him, but whatever my dear friend could have to say is interrupted by the harsh sound of a sword being drawn behind me – it slices through the air, shattering the moment, and I hear King Edmund begin his advance, his voice a fierce growl:

"_Witch!"_

The accusation catches me off guard but it seems that Shay is not – I turn to face my accuser, surprised, as Akshay springs out before him to face Argus, who has done the same. Both of them have their teeth bared and shackles raised.

"How dare you call the Lady Amalea a Witch, human!" My Tiger growls out with a ferocity not tempered by a hundred years of being an icicle. The two great cats stare at each other, each one unwilling to back down, but not wanting to make the first move either.

"You will not address His Majesty in such a way," Argus snarls back, and hearing him speak snaps me out of my state and I rise up, the word _Witch _still ringing in my head.

"Enough," I order, my voice cold as I straighten and gaze at the King Edmund. He meets my eyes brazenly and tilts his chin to meet my glare. "I ask you to lower your sword, boy, for I am no Witch and I will not be insulted in such a way!"

"You have given me more than enough proof with your magic," the young monarch replies, glowering, but I refuse to waver under the dark eyes boring holes into me.

"You really think Aslan would ask you to take a Witch into your castle, into the care of you and your siblings?" I raise one eyebrow at the silence that follows, and then allow some of the hostility out of my voice. "I am no Witch. If Aslan's trust in you and I is not proof enough, then I fear you will find nothing else to satisfy you."

After a few tense moments, King Edmund lowers his sword and turns on his heel sharply, voice cold. "You both will follow me, _girl_." The last word is snarled out as he stalks off. Argus indicates for both of us to follow him and I bury my hand into Akshay's fur as we walk, Argus following behind us.

There is a heavy silence between the four of us, electrified by the undercurrent of negative emotions running between the King and I. Eventually I am unable to keep silent with Shay's newly discovered presence – so familiar, so nostalgic, so _raw _in its memory – beside me.

"I am surprised you recognized me," I murmur to my beloved Tiger, fully aware that Argus will hear us from his position. I keep my gaze straight ahead of us as Shay chuckles.

"I can recognize you however you look like, Amalea."

I smile slightly at the name. "I haven't been called that in a long time," I remark under my breath and Shay glances up at me. I meet his eyes, knowing that he can easily see everything that I have been holding back during my time on Earth. All of a sudden I want to sit down and _cry_, my face buried in my Tiger's soft fur – I blink a few times in an attempt to chase away the onset of emotion.

"I missed you so, so much Shay." My voice trembles as my lips form his name, and Akshay growls low in his throat in an attempt to reassure me.

"We will talk more of this when we have the opportunity, Amalea." My fingers clench and unclench in his fur, my stomach doing a summersault worthy of the Olympics. "It seems that you have much to tell me."

* * *

.

.

* * *

The silence between us continues even as we return to our horses and set out for Cair Paravel – Akshay claims that he is well enough to travel and ignores the worried looks I send in his direction. Eventually the scenery around us shifts to long shadows and a darkening sky; we make camp while Akshay and Argus take their leave to go hunting. The King and I are left at the campfire and we eat whatever we have left, situated across from each other. I trace nonsense patterns in the dirt and try not to bristle as I feel his gaze on me the entire time, as if trying to solve a mystery he has no idea how to approach.

"_The _Lady Amalea," he finally says, voice rough from us being silent for hours on end. I meet his eyes over the crackling of the fire, surprised at his quoting of Akshay. "You led us to believe that your name was Lea."

His silhouette against the falling night makes him look somehow older, more wise; the fire is reflected in his eyes and the intensity of his narrowed stare on me almost makes me forget that he is just a child. I raise one eyebrow in response to his words. "Lea is a nickname most call me by, Your Majesty," I reply, not bothering to mention that the only people who _do _call me Lea consist of my father and several teachers I take classes from. The only friend I have, Camille, refuses to nickname people.

King Edmund's tone is mocking and inquisitive both at once. "Why are you The Lady Amalea?"

"Why are you so afraid of Jadis' castle?" I counter back without much thought. His eyes narrow even further at my blatant refusal to answer his question, and I tilt my head to the side in amusement. I am impressed by the boy's – that is all he is, crown or no crown – hold over himself, even though I can see how his shoulders tense, how his jaw clenches by my disregard for his position.

"Nothing in the world is ever free, Your Majesty. Every answer comes with a price. However," I pause, briefly letting my eyes drift over his shoulder, and my next words come with sincerity. "You and your siblings have been nothing but kind to me. You let me foray into the North on nothing more than my words, and you have let me borrow a horse – I am most thankful for that, for I am now reunited with Akshay. If you truly desire to know the answer to your question, then I suggest a foray of your own. Into the library of Cair Paravel." I meet the King's eyes again, resolute, my face a stone mask. "You do not wish for me to know of your previous connections to Jadis and her castle, and I have no wish to talk of a title I was once called by."

The King is quiet, watching me. "Are you ashamed by it?" He asks at last, startling me. I smile and lean forward.

"Are you?" I reply, referring to his past. His lips curl into a snarl at my teasing tone and I shrug, dropping the subject. "I am not ashamed by my past, King Edmund. I merely do not want to talk about it. I am sure we can come to an agreement there."

The King's annoyance with me becomes more visible as he talks. "I do not plan on letting this matter drop, The Lady Amalea," he calls me by the title once again, fully aware of the fact that I am not fond of being called by it. "I will approach you on this matter as soon as I have followed through on your advice."

I allow myself a small smile. "And then we shall talk, Your Majesty. However, I make no promises."

Having run out of words to say to each other, the atmosphere between us relaxes a bit as the fire crackles. Eventually Argus and Shay make their way back to us, my Tiger coming to lie down beside me.

"I am most impressed that you two have managed to not yet maim each other," he murmurs to me and I narrow my eyes at him, noticing how Argus' ears flick backwards at the comment from the other side of our tiny campsite.

"This is not the time for jokes, Akshay." I reply, slightly uncomfortable. "How was your hunt?"

My Tiger licks his chops, his tail flickering behind him. "Satisfying," he purrs.

A small, rare grin forms on my lips as I lie down next to him, burrowing into his warmth, pressing myself against his side until I can faintly his heart beating. "That is pleasant to hear." Words pass unsaid between us – questions, proclamations of concern and relief. I can sense his curiosity at the situation we are now in: my being alive, my being human, my being _here_. The young King across from us and the melting of Jadis' castle.

I press my lips to my Tiger's ear and barely breathe out one, single word – "Aslan." It is short and for now, it is enough to satisfy my dear companion.

* * *

.

.

* * *

We set out again soon after dawn breaks the next day. The ride back seems to go by faster as we all anticipate arriving at the castle; nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought, of all the questions I will have to answer. The remembering I would be forced to do. Akshay and I have no time between the two of us to talk of what really matters, but just having him beside me once again makes me happier than almost anything else I can imagine.

On the second and last night, however, I dream.

It is Desdemona, Akshay, Bala and I. We are in the midst of fleeing Cair Paravel as it is being overrun by Jadis' army; the castle stands beautiful against the sky and Bala stands with it. I remember this moment well: it is my last look at the courageous Cheetah, and her last words to me continue to echo in my soul both on Earth and here.

"_Protect my Queen, Amalea! Narnia shall not go down without a fight!" _

I remember the way she leaped off into the shadowed hallways of the castle, her teeth bared and determination in her eyes. I remember refusing to say goodbye.

* * *

.

.

* * *

I awaken from my nightmarish past with a gasp – Akshay shifts beside me in his sleep, exhausted from the day's events, although his pride does not let him admit this. I stare up into the beautiful night sky above me, shaken, as the constellations of my home try to make themselves known once again in my head.

"No more remembering," I murmur to them, begging them to stop.

"Remembering the past is what allows us to move forward." I all but sit up in surprise at the young King's voice drifting quietly over to me, before realizing that it must be his turn to keep guard. I close my eyes against the brilliant pinpricks of light keeping watch over all of us.

"Some things are better left forgotten," I reply. The King says nothing to this and I turn on my side, hiding my face against Akshay's body to keep the moonlight from shining down on the few tears threatening to escape my eyes.

_I failed, Bala. I am so, so sorry, my dear friend. _


End file.
